


Reckoning

by burningice



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, F/M, Family Secrets, Homophobia, M/M, Marriage, Minor Relationships, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, high society - Freeform, mentioned mpreg, pride and prejudice - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningice/pseuds/burningice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family outcast Charles Xavier leads a quiet, yet lonely life among the humans at Oxford University, where he hopes to earn his PhD. However, Charles's new life is interrupted by his family's financial difficulties, and he is forced to return home. His alcoholic mother and abusive step-father intend to exploit his secondary mutation, which allows him to become pregnant, in order to marry him and pay off their debts. Charles learns that he must overcome his prejudices of the people in his life and confront his demons if he is to ever be truly happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> VERY LOOSELY BASED ON PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (I mean loosely, don't expect the exact dialogue, plot, or characters)

_There's gotta be another way out_

_I've been stuck in a cage with my doubt_

_I've tried forever getting out on my own_

**"On My Own" by Ashes Remain**

 

The reality within the mutant communities across Western Europe is that men with money are in search of women with values. A dying race depends on a man’s wealth and a woman’s reproductive capabilities to keep the species thriving. The members of the Xavier family cling fiercely to this truth.

As one of the oldest mutant families in Western Europe, the Xaviers take pride in the prestige and respect affixed to their name. William Xavier hired local laborers to build his family’s mansion in 1797, during the Industrial Revolution. He procured his wealth from his father, who owned coalmines and helped construct the Bridgewater Canal. Besides a coveted position among the British aristocracy, William was endowed with a mutation that allowed him to alter people’s emotions. Like many wealthy mutants, William and his family resided in the rural landscapes of Somerset where they retained privacy from humans. William spent most of his time away from home in South Wales, where he oversaw his coalmines.

The last Xavier mutant was Rudolph Xavier, born in 1888. He died during an influenza outbreak in the Xavier’s mansion in 1918, which killed Rudolph, his wife, and his mutant daughter, leaving his human son, Miles Xavier, to inherit the family’s fortune. All of the Xavier’s, from that moment on, did not produce children with mutations, allowing them to slowly, but not completely, integrate themselves with the wealthy humans residing in urban London. The mansion was mainly used as a vacation home during the holidays and considered too valuable to rent out during the rest of the year.

Charles Xavier and his four siblings became the first Xavier mutants in almost a century. When Brian and Sharon moved out of their London penthouse and began permanently renting it out, everyone knew that the mutations must have reemerged in the Xavier gene pool. Some were shocked that anti-mutant extremists didn’t burn the penthouse to the ground, but despite their mutant children, Brian and Sharon were influential in the urban London community. They donated to charities supporting cancer research and to children’s hospitals, making their generosity known to all.

The Xavier mansion was once a place Charles Xavier called home, but the renovated and ornate architecture started to loom in contrast to how pleasing to the eye visitors and those passing by the property found its columns and arches. The prestigious academic environment at Oxford drew the Xavier heir to London for an extended period of time. Although the drive to school is almost an hour, the corporate connections London has to offer makes the drive worth it. His peers and professors perceive Charles as amiable and approachable, but the mystery surrounding his mutation acts as a barrier between him and everybody else at Oxford; freedom comes at the expense of companionship.

It is during the middle of March when Charles gets a call from Raven, whom he has not spoken to since Christmas. She was rather upset that he chose to stay in London over the holiday rather than visit the family, but Charles knows that is not the reason why they have not been in contact. Life is complicated and messy, and one cannot be expected to call every week when there is a thesis to write and always research to be conducted.

Charles’s first thought is that Kurt or Mother has done something to terribly upset her, but that is already a daily occurrence. She may have asked to attend college in the city with Charles again, only to be turned down— _again._ A spark of guilt sometimes ignites within Charles when he thinks about the opportunities born to his gender that must bypass his sisters.

His second thought is that Cain has returned—perish the thought. If that were the case, Raven would not bother alerting Charles, who has no intention of returning to the mansion any time in the near future. Cain is the sort of man whose disposition would repel Satan. If he could, Charles would send his condolences to South Wales for tolerating Cain’s abrasive presence.

“Raven, what a wonderful surprise.” Charles allows himself to lean back in his chair and tear his eyes away from his laptop, which tells him that it is 7:30; it looks as if he forgot to sleep again.

“Receiving a call from your sister isn’t really surprising, Charles.” Her natural teasing indicates that she is doing fairly well at home, but he knows better than to presume that Raven is calling to ask about his health.

“It is, when she hasn’t called in months,” Charles says, meaning to sound slightly stern, because a lot can happen in three months.

“The phone works both ways.”

“Duly noted, my dear.” An intermittent pause lingers between them, and Charles does not know if it is caused by the months spent in silence or the news Raven needs to deliver him. “I know you haven’t called just to make quips from Watchet, so come on. Out with it.”

Her audible sigh is a warning to prepare for what she is about to dump on his full plate. “Mother requests that you return home. Immediately.”

Charles laughs at the ludicrousness of his mother’s request. “Raven, you know that isn’t possible.” The day Charles left the mansion for London he vowed to never go back. Save the phone calls, texts, and video chatting, Charles does not see his family, and none of his sisters are allowed to travel to London.

“Was seven years in London not long enough?” It sounds like a harmless joke, but Charles knows his decision to leave hurt his siblings.

Charles remembers the morning he left, right before the sun came up. His previous agreement with his mother was that he would not leave for college until he turned eighteen, but Charles learned that having a family didn’t mean he would have their support, protection, or love. He wished leaving would have been more difficult, but it had been as easy as blinking. His sisters understand why he had to leave, but not a day goes by when Charles doesn’t feel guilty over abandoning his sisters, trapping them in that mansion alone with his alcoholic mother, abusive stepfather, and psychotic stepbrother.

About two weeks after Charles arrived in London, Raven texted him with news that Kurt sent Cain to South Wales, where he could learn more about running some of the Xavier properties. Removing Cain from the mansion calmed some of Charles’s nerves, and he was no longer spending every night lying awake in bed, wondering if his sisters were safe.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “Leaving has done your wellbeing much good, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t constantly in my thoughts.”

Charles allows a smile to grace his tired features; he really should call Raven more often. She holds the same ambitions that drive him, and their likenesses brought them close together during their childhood. It would be easy for Raven to maintain a civilian disguise so she could live in London and attend Oxford, but the years Charles spent in London taught him that humans lived with a certain autonomy not offered to mutants.

Many of Oxford’s wealthy students spend their weekends clubbing and trashing penthouses, while mutant society encourages rigid rules and composed temperaments. The mutant agenda is to create the ultimate affluent civilization—mutants were split on whether this new society should be converted into a mutant-human social order or whether the species should converge and live in harmony.

“Do not doubt that you occupy my mind,” Charles affectionately reassures. “I need you to be honest,” he requests in a serious tone. “Has mother fallen whim to one of her dramatic fits, or does this emergency warrant my long awaited return?”

“Is bankruptcy considered an emergency?”

Charles nearly drops his cell phone. Despite Kurt’s _countless_ faults, he is a relatively decent businessman above spending frivolously. However, his mother is in charge of the spending, and her alcoholism may have awakened a shopaholic. “That is quite an emergency, though my scholarship ensures my attendance at Oxford, and my job pays my rent.”

“What about us, Charles? While you’re gallivanting in London with the humans, we’re stuck at the mansion with Kurt and Mother.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For all the good London has done you, there are times you forget we exist. Please, Charles. We face losing the mansion, and Mother needs to discuss our future finances with us. All of us.”

Charles senses that Raven is holding back information to guarantee his return home, but nothing will prevent him from securing his sisters’ future. He begins to craft an argument in his head for taking his sisters to London without a care of the scandal it would create in the mutant community.

“You can tell Mother that I will be home Friday night and will leave for London first thing Sunday morning.”

Raven sighs. “Thank you.”

“I have missed you terribly.” Charles remembers contacting his sisters via FaceTime during Christmas break and seeing them in their lovely green and red gowns for the Christmas ball. He was shocked at how much Jean matured and that Raven continued to look more like mother the older she grew. “I’ve nearly forgotten what it’s like to hold you.”

“I fit against you perfectly,” she recollects. “If you don’t remember now, you will in three days.”

“I can’t wait.” He only partially means it. “If you’ll excuse me, I must get ready for the day. My first class starts in an hour.”

“Is this the class that utilizes genetics to brainwash mutants into believing that they are descended from humans?”

“It’s true, and you’re not funny.” Good to know that they’re views on human-mutant relations have not changed.

“I’m hilarious.”

“Goodbye, Raven.” He hangs up before getting caught into a debate over the best way to safely integrate mutants and humans. Raven enjoys playing devil’s advocate for extremists, who believe violent tactics should not be dismissed, and Charles does not know whether she does this to annoy him or because her sentiments truly lie with radicals like the Brotherhood.

Thoughts on politics are pushed to the back of his mind as he drags a suitcase from out of his closet and opens it on the floor beside his bed. On Friday he will be home for the first time in seven years.

 

 

 *

 

 

The drive is long but provides diverse scenery. London is constantly abuzz with architecture, people, cars, and constant movement. Despite his time spent in the city, Charles’s fondness for the country never left him. He enjoys the green grass and jagged cliffs, the flowing blue rivers and the sun glistening off the lake’s reflection. What he misses most is the coast about half a mile’s walk from the mansion.

Before his father shot himself in the head, Brian Xavier took their children to the beach every weekend. Charles was fearless amongst the aggressive lapping waves, and his eagerness to dive head first into the water nearly gave his mother a heart attack. From the water he would egg his sisters on, dare them to go out farther than he was already submerged. Moira was only about a year younger and could sometimes keep up, but it was the spirited Raven who was always one step behind Charles.

The ocean has always been a place of solitude. His family has their own private beach, where Charles can always find solace if needed privacy from his family’s dramatic disorder. To know that owning a boat would allow him to sail to any part of the world on that very ocean was sometimes a great frustration. Children need more than a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs.

Charles recognizes he has another hour or so of driving when he begins to pass the string of old farmhouses he used to beg his parents to let him play in whenever they happened to drive by, which was not often—his parents frequented the mutant communities in the country and rarely left home with their children. The last time they played in one of those farmhouses, docile Emma fell off the ladder and broke her arm, immediately ending their barn adventures.

The town looks the same that Charles remembers, save for a new restaurant, recently renovated townhomes, and a repaved main road. In another two months, people will start placing potted flowers outside of their businesses and on the verandas of their hotels and townhomes. Permanent residents live in houses located outside of the center of town, many of them added during the sixties and seventies, when the area became popular for vacationing. Watchet contains a population of barely four thousand people, but the numbers climb every year. The downside to living in a mutant community of this size is that everybody knows everyone’s business, and as a result, his mother is a master of secrets.

Once Charles drives through town, he knows that another fifteen minutes of driving down the main road will lead him to the mansion. The closer he is to home, the rockier the road becomes, the tires picking up dirt and flinging pebbles. He still has fond memories of his sisters, but these recollections will morph into something much darker when the mansion is in sight. How could he forget his mother’s drunken stupors in the middle of the day, or Kurt’s angry tirades and the occasional hand he would raise against his mother or one of his sisters, sometimes even Cain and him?

The mansion is as grand and magnificent as he remembers. Mother is still using the gardener, because the grass is green, the bushes are cut, the flowers are planted, and the grounds have that meticulous look to them that screams Sharon Xavier. The road circles in front of the mansion where guests may park their cars and have the valet take them to garage located in the back of the mansion. Charles prefers to park his own car, but he no longer has access to the garage and has no choice but to let valet park the car for him.

“Charles!” Raven is standing in front of the double doors, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a madwoman, and she charges at the car before he can pull up to a stop.

“Hey!” he yelps when she throws the door open and is on him like an excitable pet. “Ow! Raven!” She squirms onto his lap and throws her arms around him. He's surrounded by her blonde tresses, which tells him that Mother's rule of no using mutations in the house is still in play.

“Shut up,” she commands in a voice muffled by her face in the crook of his neck. “You’re in trouble for leaving me, and now I’m never going to let you go.”

He wraps his arms around her torso and lets her have this moment, even if she is crushing him. “Can you at least let me get out of the car?”

“No.”

They continue to hug in silence for another minute before she finally gets off him. Charles finally has mobility and can unbuckle and exit the car. Raven links their arms and holds onto him, refusing to let go.

Charles assesses the towering structure he used to call home; his nerves are shot. “It looks the same.”

“Yes. You might notice new kitchen appliances, but other than that, nothing much has changed. Well—actually you should see Jean.”

“I have seen her.”

“In person, Charles.”

Raven is right: the inside of the mansion is almost an exact replica of the home he left seven years ago. The perks of living in a mansion a couple centuries old are the antiques. He remembers his mother’s parlor room being full of them; the staircase at the front of the mansion has not been renovated since the early twentieth century, and the original design pattern on the railing is still visible. From the mansion’s entrance, Charles sees an 1871 Grand Michel bronze clock that Albert Xavier brought back from a business venture in Paris.

“It’s unusually quiet,” Charles notes. “I half expected Jean and Emma to be running up and down the stairs.”

Raven scoffs. “That’s what children do. When you left, none of us had been presented. Now our lives are full of parties and politics, getting our names out in the right social circles. Not to mention, it’s been difficult keeping smiles on our faces since…”

Charles pushes away his negative thoughts and swallows away the dryness from his throat. “No matter. I’m home now, and I want to see my sisters.”

“Emma and Jean are in town buying clams for dinner. Mother sent Kurt to Taunton early this morning, and he has yet to return. Moira is here and is dying to see you—”

“Wait, Moira is here?”

“Can you believe Bill let her leave Winchester?”

Bill Stryker is a man void of almost all emotion except for anger. Charles missed Moira and Bill’s wedding, because he was studying abroad in Switzerland, something he’s sure Mother won’t let him live down. Moira married Bill three years ago, a week after her twentieth birthday. His poor sister gave birth to Kevin nine months later, and last year she gave birth to Elizabeth. When he video chatted with her over the holidays, he asked about the children and told Moira that she should be receiving their Christmas gifts from him in the mail.

The Xaviers met Bill at a party in Taunton. At the time, Bill was working as a lawyer in London, specializing in prosecuting mutants. His parents encouraged him to form an alliance with the mutants by marrying one of them, in the hopes of expanding their business to “people of all genders, races, and species.” Charles and Bill’s mothers attended the same girls’ boarding school, but lost contact when Sharon moved to Watchet with her family. Bill’s mother knew Sharon had mutant children and was wealthy, so she pushed her son into attending the very few events that included humans and mutants. What the Strykers did not expect was for Brian and Sharon Xavier to have a human daughter.

Bill managed to fulfill the agreement between his parents and him without dirtying his hands.

Saying that Charles dislikes Bill is an understatement. He never met, let alone talked to the guy, but the stories he hears from his sisters give him all he needs to know about Bill’s lecherous and brutish character. No love exists between Bill and Moira, but the Strykers’ fortune is enough to sustain Moira and her children for generations to come. Moira and the children reside in the town of Winchester, which is located in Hampshire, about an hour’s drive to London where Bill works.

Moira’s marriage was a surprise to everyone. Most mutant women weren’t married off until after college, and a few were lucky enough to maintain a job while married. Although not as high strung as Raven, Moira possesses strength in leadership not found in the other Xavier children. Not interested in attending any of the mutant friendly colleges, she didn’t put up much of a fight when Kurt and Sharon arranged her marriage to Bill. Charles later discovered that Bill’s job as a high profile federal lawyer gives Moira access to information regarding mutant-human political relations. From the house, Moira writes political articles for online newspapers and journals, which Charles is sure Bill disapproves of but can do nothing about because of his being in London so frequently.

“I believe Moira can hold her own. Is she with Mother?”

“In the parlor room.” She doesn’t follow Charles, who looks at her questioningly. “She wants to talk to you alone. I told her you would just tell me what you discussed, but you know how obstinate she can be.”

“Believe me when I say I do,” Charles remarks bitterly. He sighs, already feeling the mansion sucking the life out of him. “The sooner I speak with her, the sooner I can spend time with everyone.”

The parlor room is located in the corner of the mansion on the first floor. Almost every piece of furniture in that room is an antique, and most of the furniture is covered in hideous doilies that were introduced to the mansion by Leticia Xavier in 1848. The newest pieces of furniture are the cream sofas, which are from 1922. Nobody uses the parlor room except for Mother, where she entertains guests and calls for her children whenever their actions have displeased or embarrassed her.

His mother is seated on one of the couches with a cup of tea in her thin bony hand—it most likely is only about a quarter of tea, the rest being an alcoholic beverage of her choosing. She recently went to the salon, because her roots have been dyed to their previously natural blonde. Her fingernails are freshly manicured, and she is dressed head-to-toe in white Gucci; her expensive tastes endured over the seven years he was away.

There is no joyful greeting or crushing hug most mothers would bestow upon their returned children. All Charles receives is an expectant look as she waits for him to take his seat on the couch opposite her; she wants to get down to business. Charles has a sinking feeling that he will not be returning to London as soon as he hopes.

“Charles, Darling, welcome home.” Her voice is calm and collected. It’s as if he has been gone for only a week. Her detachment from her children is ever present. “I do not know how much Raven has told you, but I’m sure you’re aware of our recent financial difficulties.”

He’s overcome with amazed aggravation. “Bankruptcy.”

His mother clears her throat. “Yes. But it’s nothing that can’t be cleared up.” Charles wonders what diabolical plan his mother has concocted, and he knows that it will somehow involve all her children.

“Where’s Moira?” he asks instead.

“With her children in the garden.” His mother takes another easy sip of her tea. “Moira’s marriage was quite a surprise, but it has proved a formidable match.” Charles doesn’t trust himself to remark on Moira’s loveless union. “Too bad you couldn’t be there to show your sister some support.”

Charles has half a dozen ironic retorts appropriate for this situation, but he settles for saying, “I’m hoping that whatever you have to tell me won’t take too long. I wish to spend time with my sisters before my departure."

His mother puts her cup of tea on her coaster and sits up a little straighter. She’s smug, and whatever his mother has to be happy about is usually not in anyone’s favor. “Charles, you will be staying here for the foreseeable future.”

There it is.

“Mother, I don’t see how—”

“Kurt and I have decided to present you.”

Charles’s posture is stiff as wood, and he starts to feel his vision go out of focus from the anger boiling in the pit of his stomach. He cannot fathom the rationality behind this decision. The pro-mutant extremists have an agenda that includes copulation between two mutants to guarantee a new mutant generation. Homosexuality does not aid this agenda, and therefore is not encouraged in many mutant communities. Having Charles presented does not make sense unless…

“You plan to expose my secondary mutation,” Charles seethes.“Now, of all times, even after—”

“Do not,” his mother hisses. “Wealthy homosexuals from all over Europe will be groveling at our feet for this marriage. This will be their only chance to live freely, without shame—”

“And in return, you get a paycheck.”

“I didn’t see you advocating for Moira’s happiness.” Charles falls silent, and his mother smirks when she sees her commentary has fulfilled its intended purpose. “Your sisters’ marriages will keep them financially protected, but Kurt and I will get little out of their unions. It’s you we’re counting on. Once it is known that you can bear children, Kurt and I can broker a contract that will save us from ruin.”

His mother has performed many abominable acts during her lifetime—half of which were done under the influence—but her deplorable conduct never ceases to amaze Charles. She and Kurt waste their resources, and the answer to their problems is to whore out their children.

He used to feel sorry for his mother. After his father blasted his brains out in his study, she discovered the answer to her problems was located at the bottom of a bottle. His father left their family enough money to survive on for years, but his mother wanted stability and, for some reason, found it with Kurt. His mother’s circumstances transformed her into a shell of her former self, a selfish woman only concerned with the amount of money in her bank account and her family’s reputation.

“You expect me to do this. After everything…” Charles can’t look at her, so he fixes his gaze out the window where he has a view of the garden.

“It won’t be as terrible as you think.” Her words don’t placate his fears. “Not everyone is willing to make an offer. After all, you can only marry one suitor, and what will happen to those who aren’t chosen? They’re no longer closeted and won’t be able to settle down with a wife and have children. Oh, well. The bright side is now they’re free to fornicate with whoever they wish.”

“Are you hoping to be the new face of gay rights?” Charles dryly jokes.

“Don’t take that tone with me.” His mother sips the last of her tea. “Your stubbornness will lead you down a path of despair. Your scholarships have paid for your tuition, and your job has paid your rent, but your sisters have no safety net.”

As much as he hates to admit it, his mother is right. His sisters were homeschooled until they turned eighteen, and the mutant colleges only teach anti-human ideology that cannot help adolescents find jobs after graduating, unless students want a career in spreading propaganda and getting into politics. Moira married before she could attend, Mother thought Emma was too pretty for college, and as for Raven…Charles has no idea why Raven is not in college.

Raven always resented having to stay in Watchet. Their father used to keep a globe in his office, and Raven would sneak in with Charles so they could play with it. They would place their fingers on the globe and spin it to see which geographical area it would stop on. Their father finally bought them a map of Britain to keep them out of his office, and Raven was livid when she discovered that London was a few hours drive away.

Raven always showed interest in the Brotherhood, but Mother did not want her directly involved in their work. She would much rather see her daughter married to a member rather than working alongside one. Charles suspects that Raven’s reasons for not going to college have to do with plans to join the terrorist organization, something he plans on talking to her about if he is being forced to stay at the mansion.  

“They cannot stay with Moira for a bit?” Charles futilely suggests.

“That does not solve our financial problems. You cannot get out of this, Charles. Unless you want to see your sisters out on the street, you will do this.”

He has no choice but to comply with his mother’s wishes.

“Good.” Her smile is crooked and slimy, like seaweed that gets washed ashore. “I assume that human school of yours ordered you on suppressants in exchange for your attendance?” His silence is a good enough answer for her. “Get off them.”

When Charles and his siblings showed signs of their new mutations, their parents brought them all to a mutant doctor who performed extensive and invasive physical exams to search for any physical mutations that were hidden. His parents didn’t inform him of his second mutation until he was old enough to understand what it meant.

“They’re back at my flat.”

“Good. I’ll send movers over to pack up your place and ship your belongings here.”

“I didn’t always take them,” Charles feels the need to say. “There was no need on weekends or during the summer—really, any time I wasn’t going to be on campus.”

“Bravo, Darling. Would you like a medal for not entirely conforming to those heathens' rules and regulations?”

“Some in our community still consider you to be one of those heathens,” Charles snaps before he can stop himself.

He’s expecting some sort of tantrum or screamed retort, but it doesn’t come.

“Your time spent among them really shows,” is all she says before he’s dismissed.

 

 

 *

 

 

Charles’s old room is unrecognizable. His classic literature and science textbooks have been removed, either sold, given away, or thrown out. The bookcases that once held them now provided space for glass figurines going back as far as the late nineteenth century. His desk and side table are gone, replaced by more antiques, like a rocking chair, a sewing machine, and a chaise lounge. Someone painted over the previously light blue walls and colored them Easter egg yellow. All that is untouched are the bed and the curtains.

He doesn’t bother unpacking and shoves his suitcase under his bed. Some old clothes are still in his closet, so he won’t need to go into town to shop. The school will need to be notified that he will not be returning for the rest of the year, but he wants to hold off on dropping out entirely. He doesn’t even know if he can keep his scholarship if he takes the rest of the year off.

It’s been seven years since he’s seen his sisters in person, but all Charles wants to do is lie down in silence, shut his mind off to the new worries surely to plague him for the upcoming next few weeks. He feels terrible for not wanting to find Raven and catch up. She clearly missed him and wants to make up for lost time.

A knock on his door prevents him from resting. “Charles?”

He recognizes Moira’s voice. “Come in.”

Like Raven, Moira’s welcome home greeting is accompanied with squeezing Charles’s last breath out of his body. He owes her for his lengthy time away from home and for missing her wedding, so he tolerates Moira’s crushing embrace and maybe hugs her back just as tightly. She presses a hard, lingering kiss to his temple before she pulls back.

“I’ve missed you.” Moira’s voice is small, and she’s trying to hold back tears.

“I know, Darling.”

Moira clears her throat and recomposes herself. “I just wanted to say hello while the children are napping. You probably want to rest—”

“Nonsense. I’ve already settled in, and I always have time for you, Moira.” He takes her hand and runs a finger over her engagement ring. “You’re right. It’s much bigger in person.”

“And it still doesn’t make up for being married to the most uncouth man in the country. Oh, Charles, no,” she placates him when he grimaces. “He’s rarely home, and the children are wonderful company.”

“Children can’t provide the same company adults can.” It isn’t what she needs to hear, and Charles berates himself for his tactless comment. “Never mind that. I’m here, now. Shall we take some drinks to the backyard and catch up?”

Moira smiles coyly. “I would love to join you outside, but I’m afraid drinks are out of the question for me.”

At first he doesn’t know what she means, but his eyes widen in realization. He pulls her into a hug, and now he’s the one crushing her. “Oh, Moira. When?”

“August 20th.”

“My goodness,” Charles breathes in excitement. He links their arms and leads her out of his room. “When do you find out the gender?”

“I already have both, so I’m thinking about making this one a surprise.” She grabs his hand again and interlaces their fingers. “Bill couldn’t care less, of course. He’s never been to any of my ultrasounds, and he never calls to ask about the children. Most husbands tend to hover and try to prevent their wives from overtiring, but Bill’s indifference allows me to continue my writing. The freedom is quite nice, actually.”

Moira’s gifts lie in the field of perception. The first time Moira spoke of Bill to Charles, she sounded distant from her situation. She wasn’t excited about her upcoming nuptials, yet she didn’t seem disappointed at the turn her life was taking. Charles suspects that she is like him and buries herself in her work to distract from the reality outside of the computer monitor. He supposes her love life might carry more meaning for her if she actually met someone and fell in love with them, but it’s not as if she has opportunities to meet men outside of Bill’s social circle.

The good patio furniture has been brought outside now that the weather is becoming warmer. There’s a bar on the patio that was not there when Charles left, and he fixes himself a gin and tonic.

“We’ve gotten rid of most of the staff.” Moira takes her seat at the polished table. “Though I’m sure you’re used to doing everything for yourself.”

“Practice makes perfect, my dear.” He joins his sister and sets a glass of water in front of her. “Mother didn’t turn Alex away, did she?” His blood boils at the thought.

“No,” Moira says carefully. “He accompanied Emma and Jean into town, actually.” Her mouth sets into a grim line. “I wouldn’t count on him forgiving you for leaving as fast as we did.”

Alex wanted to leave with Charles; he had been his companion since childhood, and Charles’s departure must have unlocked stored away memories of his mother’s death. Everyone Alex cared about left him, and all he had was his brother, Scott. Charles needed Alex to stay in Watchet, to make sure that his sisters were safe. He also couldn’t stand being the reason Alex left his little brother behind.

For three months, Alex refused to take Charles’s calls, forcing him to communicate through his sisters. Charles up and left when everyone was still asleep, and Alex was understandably hurt that Charles didn’t say goodbye. They were best friends, and Charles had left him behind. When Alex was ready to contact Charles, he didn’t ask for an explanation or an apology, just requested that they talk once a week.

“Alex has been hiding his resentment,” Charles says before taking a generous sip of his beverage. He swallows the bitter taste and feels the burn in his chest.

“He’ll be fine when he sees that you’re here and realizes that you’ve missed him terribly,” his sister insists.

Wanting to change the subject and place his guilt aside for bit, he asks, “How are the children?”

“Kevin is a terror, so I’ve signed him up for football—the mutant league of course. Bill wanted him to play in the league his nephew is in, but who wants a child with mutant connections around their children?” Moira glosses over the issue like she’s had practice doing this over the past three years. “Elizabeth is a little darling, just the calmest, sweetest baby.”

Charles raises an eyebrow over his glass. “Is that all? Most mothers don’t shut up about their children.”

“Well, let me think. Kevin has been begging me to get you to teach him how to play chess, but I’m sure the game will be a big disappointment to him once he realizes that practically nobody enjoys playing it. Elizabeth said her first word last week, and it was ‘food,’ of all things. They’re the only good Bill has ever done.”

Moira clearly loves her children, but Charles can tell something is amiss, and he knows she won’t voice whatever her concerns are to him. He doesn’t want to force her to talk about problems she isn’t ready to discuss, especially to him; he already owes her so much.

“You look well, Charles,” she says airily, as if she doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing. “I was afraid it was just the lighting in your apartment, but you seem…”

“Happy?” he fills in for her.

“Not quite,” she hums. He’s a little offended. “Charles, I didn’t mean to insult you. But you’ve never talked about anyone you’ve met at school—not that you would have, being one of the few mutant students.” Moira sighs dejectedly and looks at him with an emotion in her eyes that he hasn’t seen in seven years. “I know why you had to leave, but being alone for so long must have been so difficult. I understand that you don’t want to be here, but I think that some time around people who love you will do you some good.”

London was very lonely, but London was also very safe. His first year of school, he spent many nights lying awake, crying into his pillow, wishing that Alex or his sisters were there.

“You have a lot on your plate. There’s no need for you to worry about me.”

“Charles—”

“Mother wants to peddle me to the highest bidder.” Charles nearly chokes on his words, barely able to believe them.

“I know.”

“You _knew_?”

Moira eyes Charles’s drink with envy. “Unfortunately for me, Mother talks to me more now that I’m married. It’s the only thing we have in common. You could have said no.”

Charles sighs. “You know why I couldn’t.” He will do anything to protect his sisters, especially after being absent for so long. “I’m not leaving until this is all settled.”

“But you do want to leave,” Moira points out, but not in accusation. “I don’t blame you, Charles. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to feel happy.”

He smiles weakly. “Thank you.”

“Charles!”

From out of the house runs Jean, long red hair flowing behind her very tall figure. Charles understands what Raven meant when she told him that he had to see Jean. For years, he watched his sisters grow up through a computer screen, but seeing them in person really displays how dramatically their physical appearances changed.

Emma was barely a teenager when he left. She maybe grew an inch or two from when he last saw her, but her face is definitely more defined and angled. She has wonderful cheekbones, just like their mother— _God_ , she looks just like their mother. No wonder she’s Mother’s favorite. His sister looks like an angel in her white sundress and blonde hair. Her eyes are so blue! He nearly forgets they have the same eyes.

Jean is now taller than him. Her legs are long and lean like a woman’s, but she still has the roundness in her face that a child’s would have. Her nails are painted an obnoxious shade of magenta, but Charles finds it quite lovely; it’s so Jean. When she flings herself into his arms, she’s not as light as he remembers. He can no longer pick her up and swing her around, but he sure as hell holds onto her as tightly as he can and tries not to cry at the overwhelming sense of guilt and sadness that sweeps over his body. All he can do is hold her through the emotional wave until it passes.

Another body slams into him, hugging him from the side. “Oh, my god, Charles,” Emma sniffles into his collar. “You’re really here.”

“I am.”

“You can’t leave me, again,” Jean begs. She grabs his face, turns it to look at her. “Understand?”

Jean was too young to comprehend why Charles left, and it was much more difficult to stay connected to her through the years. She always asked him to come home and questioned his love for her.

He doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep, so he kisses her forehead and whispers, “I hate being away from you.”

Off to the side watching the reunion are Alex and Scott, neither of who are rushing forward to welcome Charles home. Emma releases him, and Jean retreats back to Scott so Alex can approach Charles. He really hopes Alex doesn’t have the urge to punch him.

Charles holds out his hand. “Hello, my friend.”

Alex’s expression is blank, and Charles can’t tell what his childhood friend is thinking. He could happy to see Charles in the flesh after seven years, or the resentment he tried to hide all these years could have come back to the surface.

His best friend surprises him by taking his hand and pulling him into a one-armed hug. Charles has only been home for two hours, and this is the most physical contact he’s had with people in seven years. It’s stimulating his senses, making him want to never let go, yet pull away from the overwhelming contact with another person.

“You owe me a football rematch,” is the first thing Alex says to him.

Relief floods through Charles. “Indeed, I do.” He observes Alex’s taller and filled out frame with a smile. “I would be lying if I said I’ve had ample time to practice.”

“Where’s Raven?” Emma looks around in search of her younger sister. “She said she found a linguine recipe she wants to try with the clams.”

“With Mother,” Moira replied from her seat. “I’m sure their argument will be done shortly, and dinner will be prepared for when Kurt gets back.”

“I don’t want him to come back,” Jean huffs, taking the seat next to Charles’s, pulling him into a sitting position. “I’d hate for the evening to be ruined.”

“Raven said Kurt was in Taunton. Why has he been there all day?” Charles questions.

“Your mother sent him,” Scott replies from behind Jean, “so whatever the reason, it can’t good.”

“You’re right.” Charles turns around to find that Raven joined them outside. Her lips are pursed and her eyes were narrowed in anger, how one generally looks after a conversation with their mother. Raven joins them at the table and takes a seat next to Moira. “Did anybody know that Mother planned on marrying all of us off so she and Kurt can pay their bills?”

“Are you sure?” Emma asks skeptically. She looks to Charles, either for confirmation or help, only one of which he can offer her.

“I’m afraid so,” he replies.

“She can’t do this!” Jean exclaims.

Charles notices Scott has placed a hand on one of Jean’s shoulders, and she reaches up to hold it in place. He knows that Jean and Scott have grown closer over the last two years, but he never imagined that if Jean were to marry, she would choose Scott.

“She’ll probably promise you to a family as soon as you’re a legal adult.” Raven is not at all sympathetic in her delivery. “Does Bill have a brother?”

“Shut up, Raven!”

“Jean, please,” Moira chastises. “Lucky for you, Bill only has one sister. As of right now, you have the least to worry about. Some serious changes are going to take place for the rest of you, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

For a few moments, everyone sits or stands around the table in silence, thinking over what Mother concocted. Kurt’s sudden drive to Taunton was definitely propelled by her scheming, and Charles knows that his time at home forebodes unhappiness for his family.

Alex pulls up chairs for everyone who is still standing, and they all catch up. There isn’t too much to talk about, since Charles stayed in contact with all of them, but he had been silent on his end for three months.

Apparently, Mother put up quite a fight on getting rid of the house staff. For generations, the Xaviers lived in opulence and were more well off than most people, and Mother never thought she’d see the day when she’d have to give up some of her luxuries. Raven informs Charles that their mother fought hard to keep the groundskeeper, the chef, the butler, and the housekeeper.

Jean shows him photos of her and a friend at the Jones’s vacation home in St. Andrews. At first, Charles is shocked to hear that Mother let Jean travel alone, but sees from the photos that his mother accompanied Jean on the trip. He is informed that she spent the majority of it locked in her room with bottles of Cabernet. Charles tries to ignore that little hiccup in Jean’s story, and instead, comments on the scenery and how Jean is grown. “You’re just so beautiful, my dear.” His voice is watery, and he hugs her to his side.

For the past month, Kurt has been busy with lawyers, trying to get the family’s finances in order. He and Mother keep putting the blame on each other, but it’s clear that Charles’s sisters despise them equally for the mess they created and resent the outcome of their mistakes. Sharon’s drinking has gotten worse, and Kurt took up smoking again.

Alex tries to discuss the possibility of moving to London by the fall of next year and taking Scott with him. Scott does not match Alex’s enthusiasm, but Alex hopes to put him through college, even if he would be starting a little late. After being home for merely a few hours, Charles can already tell that Scott’s hesitance to leave lies with Jean.

Alex and Scott were the sons of a teen mom with a dad who was out of the picture. Katherine Summers was hired only a few months after giving birth to Scott. She worked as a nanny for the Xaviers for nearly five years, until she died in a car accident on her way into town with Sharon. A stray dog ran into the road, and in an attempt to spare the dog’s life, the Xaviers’ driver crashed into a tree, taking the life of Katherine. Sharon escaped with a broken leg and ten staples to the side of her head.

“What are we going to do?” Raven asks just as the sun starts to set nearly an hour after she joined them in the backyard. “We can’t just get married. I have plans. I was going to…”

Charles nervously runs his tongue over his upper lip. “Maybe none of you will have to get married.”

“What do you mean?” Emma is so distraught that her lemonade is barely touched.

“I am Kurt and Mother’s county fair prize pig. A gay, eligible mutant is willing to pay millions, maybe even billions, to marry me.” Charles croaks out a dry laugh. “Honestly, it’s ridiculous. Ironic, isn’t it, that an oppressed group of people cannot accept homosexuality in their society?”

Raven snatches Charles’s gin and tonic and finishes the beverage for him. “The Xavier mansion is being turned into a breeding ground.”

“Raven, really—”

“For goodness sake, Moira, she couldn’t be more right,” Charles affirms. He briefly glowers at Raven for stealing his drink. “I thought I’d be happy to have men crawling from every corner of the continent to meet me, but these are the absolute worst circumstances.”

“You could marry a good man,” Emma tries to assure him.

Raven snorts and unhelpfully adds, “You could marry someone like Bill.”

Moira stands up abruptly. “I can smell dinner. I’ll go wake up the children.”

Jean pouts. “That was mean.”

Raven brushes her off with a quick, “She’s fine.”

The dining room is a marvelous feature of the house, complete with polished wood and a table that can sit up to twenty people, enough for the Xaviers to host a small get-together, yet not large enough to host a large party. Many a Christmas meal was the table elaborately decorated with tinsel, ornaments, seasonal salt-and-pepper shakers, and Charles’s great-great-great grandmother’s good china. Charles recalls one Christmas dinner when his mother’s father had a stroke during the first course and died on the way to the hospital.

The family’s chef, Remy, had already set the table, which holds a linguine in clam sauce, a Caesar salad, and a homemade vegetable soup that is an old family recipe. Being away from Watchet for so long made Charles forget what home felt like, and the smell of that century-old soup reminds him of what home was. He has a faint memory—it was so long ago that maybe he’s made it up—of his father teaching him how to make the family recipe at a very young age. His father is hovering over him, making sure that Charles doesn’t make any mistakes by putting too much salt in the soup, or adding basil when it should be rosemary. It’s gone before he can decide if it’s real.

Mother has already taken her seat with a freshly poured glass of wine in front of her. At the head of the table is Kurt, authoritative as ever, from the way he started eating without his stepchildren, to occupying the spot at the dining room table that was once filled by their father. “You’re late,” he addresses them curtly. His cold black eyes glance over them briefly before he returns to his dinner. “Sit.”

It’s been seven years since he’s sat down for a family meal, and Charles still hates the fake camaraderie. Mother no longer fawns over Jean’s poor manners. In fact, Jean does not take the seat next to their mother; Emma has taken that spot. Besides him, Mother is confident that Emma will make a good match for someone with her beauty, grace, charm, and demure manner.

The first half of dinner is a silent occasion. Kurt doesn’t even acknowledge that this is the first time Charles has been home in seven years—not that Charles cares. No one dares to say a word in fear of starting an argument or upsetting their mother or Kurt, very irritable people as of late.

Once Moira’s children are fed and put to bed and she’s rejoined them for the remainder of the meal, Mother announces, “Kurt has some news for all of you.” She smirks into her soup bowl, looking pretty pleased with herself.

Charles has a feeling that his mother’s plans are about to be kick-started into action.

“Is this about Taunton?” Raven inquires.

Mother frowns at Raven. “Hush, and let Kurt speak.”

Charles can tell that Raven is barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes. She and Jean share knowing looks before going back to their polite facades.

Kurt clears his throat dramatically to make sure that he has everyone’s attention. “It was brought to my attention, by the Starks, that a group of wealthy gentlemen arrived from Berlin last week.”

“What business would you have with people from Berlin?” Charles tries not to snap. Judging by the look on his mother’s face, his attempt is rather unsuccessful. “I thought you and Mother were going to marry us off to mutants.” Last he’s heard, Berlin is teeming with humans.

Kurt ignores the rude tone Charles takes with him. “The men in question are politicians. I also have it on good authority that one of them is traveling with his private doctor. He isn’t quite making hundreds of millions, but he is sure to offer one of you ungrateful children a financially secure lifestyle.”

“There’s no reason to rule the doctor out entirely,” their mother agrees. “Speaking of politicians, I heard that one of these men is Sebastian Shaw—”

Kurt sets his fork down on the table rather loudly and says firmly, “I will not have anyone closely associated with me having any contact with that psychotic radical.”

“That’s just talk,” Mother insists. “You have no proof that he’s involved with that kind of vile activity. He’s quite wealthy.” As if that’s all that defines character.

“He’s delusional, Sharon, and he would see people like you and me wiped off the face of the earth.”

“You mean humans?” Raven doesn’t need to clarify, but she wants to get under Kurt’s skin by interrupting him.

“There are other men— _better men—_ than Shaw _._ And I had the pleasure of getting acquainted with some of the wealthiest of them.”

“How wealthy?” Mother asks, eyes sparkling with hungry greed.

“Billions.”

Jean gapes. “Billions?”

“Close your mouth, Jean,” Mother snaps.

“You mean the men from Berlin?” Emma asks.

“Exactly.” Emma is the only stepchild he seems to tolerate. “The first man is named Azazel Beliar. He’s a mutant politician advocating for mutant rights in Europe. Not quite the radical Shaw is. Plenty of property scattered across the globe, and he comes from a family that owns banks. He would do very nicely.”

“That’s not likely,” Raven mumbles.

“He travels with a friend who is relatively new money. His grandfather was a very respected colonel in World War II against the Nazi regime. His father was a very famous architect who did restorations on government owned buildings and national landmarks; he did work on Buckingham Palace. His work garnered him much fame, and he runs a small, privately owned, and very lucrative company, where he leases out architects under his tutelage to go on jobs.”

“And what about his son?” Charles asks with a small smirk. “What does he do besides take the credit of dead men before his time?”

“He took over the company three years ago, after his father died. Although not as wealthy, his mother’s family owned a small amount of property that he has managed to expand and lease. He’s also a politician who works very closely with Mr. Beliar.”

Mother taps her French tips against the stem of her wine glass impatiently. “For goodness sake, Kurt, what’s the man’s name?”

“Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Never heard of him,” Charles says in a bored tone.

“The doctor doesn’t sound so high maintenance,” Raven comments dryly. “What about him?”

“He’s Mr. Lehnsherr’s private doctor, so he gets paid well.”

“No doctors,” Mother insists after a sip of wine. “And what of you two?” she queries Alex and Scott, who have been ignored for the entirety of the meal. “I know how this family works. Everyone has to put in their two cents.”

Scott’s eyes are shifty, knowing that anything he has to say would cross a line and is none of his concern. “Who are you thinking of for Jean? These men sound older.”

Mother’s eyes are glazed over, the wine finally settling. “She’s the least of my concern.”

“And Charles?” Alex speaks up. “I assume one of these men has to be for Charles.”

Kurt all of a sudden looks a little nervous. “Nobody in the group was very forthcoming as to what specifically they were looking for.”

“Because they’re terrified.” Charles tries to keep his cool, but not knowing what lies ahead for him is only increasing his agitation. “People might not be willing to out themselves for the slim chance of getting to marry me.”

“What is it called when you like both?” Mother’s words begin to slightly slur.

“Even if they come out as bisexual, they still risk losing the chance of marrying a decent mutant girl,” Moira articulates. “Who wants to marry a man who could possibly humiliate his family by having extramarital affairs with other men?"

“Are you speaking from personal experience?” Mother emits a small hiccup at the end of her sentence.

“Honestly, Bill could be a modern day copycat of Jack the Ripper, and I wouldn’t know,” Moira plays along. “Mother, let me put you to bed.”

“Nonsense, Moira, I’m perfectly fine,” Mother easily brushes her off.

“I assume we’re going to meet these gentlemen very soon,” Emma says with a hint of optimism.

“An old business partner of mine is hosting a party the first weekend of April, and you’re all expected to attend.” Kurt is clear that he will not tolerate any arguing in the matter.

“Fine,” Charles huffs, “but you must know if any of these men you’ve mentioned are here to court me.”

Kurt’s silence is deafening.

“Oh, come on!” Charles exclaims. He ignores his mother’s hushing noises. “I don’t believe for a second that you didn’t hear something from someone. All of Taunton is one big mouth that speaks about the business of others.”

Kurt wipes his mouth with his napkin before replying, “Be that as it may, one cannot trust everything they hear in Taunton. But,” he says a little hastily when Charles begins to glower, “I heard from my old business partner that Mr. Lehnsherr has an interest in men. However, rumors circulated last year that he was engaged to a Ms. Romanoff, and later that year to a Ms. Danvers.”

“Not too smart in the love department.” Raven snorts into her glass of wine at her own joke.

“Either that or he’s a manwhore,” Charles joins in with a smirk.

“All of you, shut up,” Mother snaps.

Everybody holds their breath as they wait for the impending explosion, but it never comes. Instead, she stands up from her seat—a little wobbly from the booze—and sets her napkin next to her barely touched meal.

“I’m tired,” she announces, “and I’m going to bed. None of you realize how much Kurt and I do for this family.” Charles wants to mention the bankruptcy but resists. “You’re all a bunch of ungrateful brats that don’t deserve men like Beliar and Lehnsherr, with money flowing out their orifices.”

“Mother.” Moira tries to sound scandalized, but Charles sees the way she’s trying to hide her smile behind her napkin.

“Are you all happy? You’ve ruined dinner!”

Charles knows this isn’t normal. In any other household, this kind of behavior would cause need for concern.

Mother exits the room, and everyone continues to finish their dinner as if this was standard routine.

 

 

 *

 

 

Charles retires to his room early. It’s barely eight, but he wants to avoid running into Kurt or doing anything loud enough to wake up Mother—that isn’t too likely. Once she’s passed out, there’s not much that can wake her up. She once slept through a party he threw for his sixteenth birthday. Everyone who showed up was a mutant friend he ended contact with when he moved to London.

After Charles takes a shower, he dresses in a pair of sweats with a hole that exposes his knee and a Manchester United shirt Moira sent him for his birthday three years ago. He opens his laptop on his bed and emails his school to let them know that he is dropping out for the year and— _wow._ This is really happening. His life is really over. The man he marries will treat him like a baby machine and prevent him from pursuing his PhD. Would he even be allowed to get a job?

Before he can think too much about his imminent marital prison, someone knocks on his door. He opens it to find Jean in a pair of yellow boxer shorts and a Toy Story t-shirt she’s had since she was eight; he’s envious that it still fits her. And, God, she’s so grown. The last time he saw her in person she had braces and wore her hair in either pigtails or braids. Now she has long, gorgeous hair and straight, white teeth, features he didn’t appreciate through a computer screen.

“What do you need, Darling?”

She rocks back on her heels. “Nothing. Well…I guess to just talk for a minute.” She’s in the room with the door closed behind her before he can even respond. “Sorry, I just…”

Charles motions for her to take a seat on the bed. “Anything you talked to me about through a computer you can say to me face to face.”

“I know,” Jeans says, and Charles believes her. “It’s just…different.”

“It is,” Charles concurs. “I couldn’t tell you were taller than me until earlier this evening. It was a lovely surprise.” He waits for her to say whatever it is she came to his room to tell him, but she remains silent. “Jean…”

“Do you really think Mother will marry me off to some old money, sexist prick?”

“Jean!”

“I know you were thinking the same thing about Mr. Lehnsherr.” She raises an eyebrow as if she is asking, “Right?”

“We still don’t know for sure if Mr. Lehnsherr is here for me. It could be any of those men. It could be none of them.” It’s wishful thinking, and he knows it. “Jean, you’re barely fifteen. Mother wouldn’t marry you off.”

“Really?” she asks skeptically.

Charles sighs. “I wouldn’t put it past her, but I truly believe you have nothing to worry about. Do you trust me?” She has no right to after he abandoned her to the mercy of Mother and Kurt.

“Yeah. I do.” There’s no hesitation in her voice. “You’re going to leave again, aren’t you? After you’re married, that is.”

“If I’m forced,” Charles answers honestly. He imagines being married to someone like Bill, who keeps a tight leash on his spouse unless he’s away on business. “You can count on me fighting back like my life depends on it.”

“It probably will.” Although no longer a child, Jean is still so young. Her hands are clasped in her lap, and her posture if stiff and guarded. “Charles, Raven told me why you had to leave.”

Charles can’t discuss this with her. Not now. He wonders if Jean even remembers him leaving. For almost half of her life, he has been in London. He could have made a better effort to come home more often for his sisters, but his Mother and Kurt violated him in ways Charles never imagined could have happened. His siblings were understanding at the time, but as the years passed, Charles could hear the resentment in their voices, read the unwritten words in their messages.

“What happened was horrible.” Jean barely gets her sentence out in a rush, as if she senses Charles’s need to avoid the conversation. “They’re awful—Mother, Kurt, Cain _. I hate them_.”

Kurt and Cain are people who can be easily hated. They’re rude, conceited, entitled, and selfish, embodying everything Charles’s father wasn’t. Mother is a rather complicated matter. The drunken manipulator she is today was once a loving and attentive caretaker, even if she had a nanny to look after her children and was riddled with anxiety. His father’s death started her spiral, and her marriage to Kurt took away the last remnants of the mother Charles once knew.

“How could you leave me with them?”

That is the million-dollar question.

“I didn’t want to,” he replies honestly. “Cain moving to South Wales made the decision easier.” For good measure he adds, “I love you, Jean. I love you, Raven, Emma, and Moira very much.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.” He hugs her and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’ve had a long day, so I think I’m going to sleep early. Don’t stay up too late.”

Jean sticks her tongue out. “You’re not my dad,” she jokes.

“Someone has to be.”

“Not you, Charles. Being my brother is good enough.”

Charles doesn’t expect a peaceful ten hours of sleep, and it’s not what he gets. That night, he dreams of laying immobile on bloody sheets with his mother, Kurt, and Cain’s faces peering at him from above with looks of disgust.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the ridiculously long wait...
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> [My Tumblr](http://burningice2.tumblr.com/)
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> UPDATE: So I forgot to change the publication date of the chapter. I was wondering why I only had like two views. That's my bad. Usually I type something up and post it into the text box because I'm afraid I'll lose it, but this time I was typing and editing in the text box, and that was my first time posting that way. Lesson learned.

_You've got opinions, man_

_We're all entitled to them_

_But I never asked_

_So let me thank you for your time_

_And try not to waste anymore of mine_

_Get out of here fast_

**"King of Anything" by Sara Bareilles**

 

It turns out that the dinner party is being hosted by Kurt's old business partner, Howard Stark, the very man who informed him of the arrival of Beliar, Lehnsherr, McCoy, and Shaw. Charles knows Howard as the CEO of Stark Industries and has met him twice. The first time was at a charity event, and the second time Kurt invited Stark over for dinner and drinks. Charles doesn't trust anyone who does or did business with Kurt. He also finds it odd that the Starks would be hosting an event attended by mutants, seeing as the Starks are human, but discovers that Howard Stark is fascinated by the mutant community and enjoys doing business with them.

The days leading up to the night of the dinner party are spent in the company of his sisters. Moira spent nine days at the mansion until Bill called her back to Winchester. Much of the time Charles was with her was spent in the company of her children. Kevin liked to swim in the mansion's indoor pool and managed to get through a five minute round of chess with Charles, until he abandoned the confusing and tedious game for some licorice. 

Raven pandered to Charles's interests by engaging him in talks of his studies, interpreting the politics that surround his work. Not fond of arguing with her, Charles diverted her need for harmless conflict with Netflix and coming of age movies, distractions that were always welcomed by Raven. Sometimes she'd come in his room at night while he read before going to sleep and complain about the upcoming party; it's the closest they'd ever get to discussing their mother's scheming. 

Emma enjoyed walks through town, where she'd greet all their old friends and babble about how lovely it was to have Charles back home. He accompanied her on shopping trips and helped her pick out flowers for her room. She, too, inquired about London and his studies as they walked along the beach. The shells he collected were cleaned so he could braid them through her hair, making her the spitting image of a wayward mermaid—it was something they used to do as children. 

Jean was still wild and rambunctious. She dragged Charles down a short hiking path that led to a meadow, where she'd make him paint the scenery on an easel. He indulged her fancies, even if she mocked his sloppy pen strokes and uninterpretable illustrations. As silly as it was, Jean managed to talk everyone into playing hide-and-seek. Charles claimed his participation was for the benefit of Moira's children, but Jean brought out his competitive side, and before he knew it, hours had passed and it was already time for dinner. 

Charles slowly regained control of his mutation over the past two weeks. After six days of being off his suppressants, he got violently ill the next morning and spent half the day emptying the contents of his stomach in the toilet. Being on and off suppressants for years disrupted his biology, so much so that by the night of the party, he is only able to read his family's thoughts if he is standing a few inches from them. This news dampens Raven's spirits, for she was hoping that Charles would be able to read everyone's mind and weed out the suitors he found unfit.

"I can't believe that sanctimonious prick." Charles's hands are shaking in anger to that point that he screws up his tie for a second time. "He can't lock Moira up in their home like she's his prisoner. For someone who doesn't want to be a part of mutant society, he sure does enjoy treating her like a high society mutant housewife." He begins to think of creative ways for Bill to disappear, and one of his new favorites is having a mutant with transformation abilities to turn him into an ant. 

Raven bats his hands away from his tie and fixes it herself. "Something tells me she really doesn't mind skipping this event." She peers up at Charles with mischievous eyes and her signature smirk. "Uncomfortable black tie party with stuffy rich people or quiet night alone with family?"

"I'd rather be stuck in a ring of fire than inside a house with Bill Stryker," he all but spits. "I feel awful for her. It's bad enough that he isn't capable of being a decent husband, but he isn't even a good father."

"I'm sure Moira will entertain herself with Kevin and Elizabeth and will barely see Bill."

"Probably because he'll be busy having phone sex in his study with one of his whores."

Raven doesn't disagree with his point, but is quick to divert the discussion back to tonight's party. "Blond or brunet?" She laughs at the questioning look he gives her. "What do you think Erik looks like? Tall or short? Glasses? Green or hazel eyes? Maybe he talks with a lisp." At this point, she's barely holding back laughter.

"Mr. Lehnsherr, is none of my concern." His sharp tone cuts through the air. "We don't know if that man is here for me, and until we know for sure, I don't want to hear anymore about him."

Raven raises her eyebrows. "Point taken."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not," she says with a smile as she pats down his suit. "Perfect. Such an improvement from Grandfather's clothes."

He wants to playfully slap her on the shoulder, but Raven does have a point. The light gray suit softens his skin tone, and maybe not having creases in the clothes made somewhat of a difference. Raven wanted to play around with the colors, but Charles preferred simple and understated, sticking with a white button-up. Raven did, however, manage to talk him into wearing a baby blue tie. 

"I still don't like the color," he protests just to be difficult. 

"Then you must hate your eyes. No, seriously, Charles! Your eyes look gorgeous. Nobody will be able to resist you."

"That's exactly what I want them to do," he gripes. He doesn't need to fend off greedy hands rubbing him down all evening.

"They will if you continue to wear that horrid tweed of yours," Raven jeers. "I can't believe your wardrobe. Did London turn you into an eighty-year-old man? I thought the fashion was supposed to be better over there."

"Mother will be sober before I get rid of my clothes. Do not mock me!" he chides her in good fun. "You will never see the day when I allow you to use me as your dress-up doll."

"I think she already has," Jean's voice says from the doorway, "because you would never dress yourself in clothes that make you look your age." She sulks into the room with a pout on her face, and Charles isn't sure if it's because she can't attend the party's that ear siblings are being thrown into the lion's den. "You also must tell me everything that happens."

"You don't need to be so involved," Charles is quick to voice. He wants to shield her from this entire mess as much as he can, but Jean is too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good, just like the rest of them.

"I'm not a child," Jean insists.

"You're too young to be dragged into all this," Charles says. "I'd do anything to be in your position. While we're getting ogled by Europe's most politically influential perverts, you get to stay home and watch _Sherlock._ " She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off. "Enjoy being young while you can." He thinks back at the mental and physical abuse he suffered at home, his escape to London, and the years he spent isolated and working hard to support himself. "It'll be gone before you know it."

"Where's Emma?" Raven asks hastily, throwing a concerned look at Charles. 

"With Mother," Jeans responds. "She brought people to the mansion to do Emma's hair and makeup. I wonder who her favorite is." 

"At least you're not the despised stepchild." Charles wishes he was joking.

Raven snorts. "Oh, please, you're her only son. She has somewhat of a soft spot for you."

The events leading up to Charles's departure from his life give him cause to mutter a resentful, "Clearly," under his breath. 

"What are you going to do, Raven?" Jean asks. "Erik could be here for you. There's also Azazel, the doctor, that Shaw guy—"

"Him," Raven says with a finality. "I will marry Shaw if it will displease Kurt. He's not particularly handsome, but his ideas and political innovations are quite fascinating—"

"Hold on," Charles stops her mid-sentence. "You've never met the man, so how would you know what he looks like?" He's a little worried that Raven marvels a man for his vision without having met him, but that's a conversation for another time. 

"I looked him up online..." She trails off and a look of newly found comprehension dawns on her face. "Charles, we're so stupid." She opens the laptop on her desk and types "Azazel Beliar" into the search engine. "If these men are as notable as Kurt portrayed them, then we must be able to find something about them on the internet." 

Images of a man with a tan skin and dark hair appear on the monitor. The pictures suggest that he is a kempt man, with his hair gelled and face shaved. However, a few pictures show a man with red skin and a tail, giving him a devilish appearance. Raven's eyes light up when she sees that his mutation is physical, like hers.

Jean whistles. "Wow."

"Defnitely intriguing." Charles doesn't bother pointing out that it would be quite unhealthy for Raven to bond with someone over the strong dislike of humans for their participation in the concealment of mutants' physical abilities. These sentiments may not even be an accurate representation of Mr. Beliar's character, but most mutant politicians hold strong resentment toward those who forced them to settle in their own towns, free from oppression.

"Google Erik Lehnsherr for Charles," Jean goads Raven, who cackles when images of a very handsome man with very symmetrical features—including sharp cheekbones and gorgeous gray eyes—pop up on the monitor. 

"For fuck's sake." Raven is barely continuing her laughter. "Of course, you'd get the hot one."

"I don't have the hot one," Charles tries to dissuade his sisters. He hasn't given much thought to the suitors Kurt mentioned that night at dinner for his own peace of mind, especially since there is no proof that any of them are interested in men. "I don't know how many times I have to say—"

"Yeah, yeah, we don't know why he's here, blah, blah, blah." Raven scrolls through the photos with Jean practically breathing down her neck. "Charles, he's ridiculously hot. You better hope he's here for you instead of some old, balding, sex-addicted, overweight CEO."

Charles flinches at the image. "I'd prefer to be left alone."

"Well, you won't be fetching a husband with that attitude," Mother's clipped voice says from the hallway. "Kurt and Emma are waiting for you two downstairs. Do not make us late. Tonight is very important, and everyone is expecting you, Charles." She leaves before any of them can reply. 

"That's our cue to hurry up," Raven says. "Sorry, Jean. You better not finish _Sense8_ without me."

"I'll try to restrain myself."

Charles inhales, then exhales deeply. "Just like the men we're going to see."

 

 

*

 

 

The Starks must yearn for little, is what Charles deduces after nosing around the first floor of their vast mansion. Not only is their home grand, pristine, and lavish, but it's currently teeming with some of Europe's most wealthy families and bachelors. Charles can't even imagine what the Stark's main home in New York must look like. 

The main room is expansive, with windows almost reach the ceiling. The curtains are gold, matching well with the polished floor and spotless walls. The room is void of furniture, and Charles thinks that it's probably used as a room for entertaining guests, most likely utilized as a dining room for meals. 

Gold double doors with large windows open up to the backyard, something Charles is grateful for, because that is where he is currently attached to Raven, Alex, and Scott as he tries to get some fresh air. From where he's standing, he has a view of Emma participating in croquet with a glass of rosé in her dainty, pale hand. A group of young gentlemen surround her, and she indulges them in small talk while Mother supervises from a close distance, with what Charles is sure is not her first class of wine that evening.

Charles knows it's plenty rude of him to seek refuge in he Stark's yard, but he is willing to do anything to avoid the stares that plagued him as soon as he stepped foot inside the mansion. He greeted his hosts politely before making his escape, one of them being the animated Tony Stark, who was interested in a demonstration of each of their mutations; his father apologized profusely for Tony's behavior. Scott followed closely behind Charles out to the yard, while the rest stayed back a bit to make polite conversation. Charles suspects that Scott misses Jean terribly and has no interest being at this party; they can be miserable together. 

The view Charles has isn't at all bad. Waiters are all over with drinks and hors d'oeuvres for guests, and the entire yard is lit by outdoor lamps on the patio and lanterns hung in plants and trees. The gardens are open to guests, which contain a large fountain and a koi pond. The property extends for at least another five acres, but is closed off to guests. From what Charles has heard, it contains a very nice ranch for the horses the Starks breed.

"You should've stayed behind longer," Raven reproaches Charles without too much severity. "Tony is wicked smart, just like you. Maybe you two could get married."

Alex laughs at the suggestion. "I'm sorry." The apology is not at all genuine. "I'm just picturing the guy trying to court and woo Charles like he's some Victorian debutant. You don't look half bad in a dress."

Charles chooses to ignore Alex and take a sip of his wine. "The Starks haven't a single mutated gene in their bloodline," he announces quietly so as to not have any eavesdroppers think he means it as an insult. "Mother and Kurt have made it clear we are to marry mutants."

"What a shame." Alex lowers his voice, too, and says, "I thought he was a bit of an ass."

Charles grins for the first time that evening. "True, but he isn't so terrible. He is quite intelligent, and he's one of the few men who hasn't looked at me like I'm his dessert." Charles tries not to make eye contact with anyone in fear of them taking it as his interest in a possible union.

Raven's eyes begin to wander as she starts her second glass of wine. If Charles didn't have good sense he would be on his fourth or fifth glass, but forces himself to nurse the one beverage he's limiting himself to so as to not drink away his stress.

"Look at that one over there." Raven directs their attention toward a man who looks to be in his mid-fifties, eyeing Emma with keen interest. "I think he actually believes that he's got a shot."

"Depends on how much money is in his bank account," Alex notes. "The more confident they look, the richer they must be."

"He must have money stuffed under his floorboards," Scott jokes as he accepts another glass of wine from a waiter. 

Charles basks in his company's smugness as he chimes in with, "I think that's just arrogance." Their obnoxious laughter eggs him on. "There's another one." He nods at a man barely in his mid-twenties. "He's been leering at every woman who passes him. Careful, Raven. You might want to cover your collarbones in the event that they arouse his interest."

Alex takes pity on Raven and teases, "How about the guy in the bowler hat chatting up your mother? His eyes followed you outside, and he's looking over here now." Charles grimaces at the stout man who is, indeed, eyeing him up and down. "I'm willing to bet that he's mighty interested." Charles almost vomits at the thought of being trapped in a house, bearing the children of someone who is not only controlling, but unappealing to the eye. 

"If you have to marry, it may as well be to someone whose physical assets won't make people feel embarrassed on your behalf." Scott voices Charles's thoughts aloud, looking extremely sorry for his friend's circumstances. "Like the guy your sister is playing croquet with—the one who just took his jacket off."

Raven's eyebrows furrow as she thinks. "I'm sure I saw him pocket some of the ahi tuna the servers are carrying around."

"How do you do that?" Scott looks at the man as if he has half a mind to go over there and ask him. 

While his sister and friends get into a heated discussion about party etiquette, Charles keeps an eye on the men surrounding Emma. Although they don't look to be posing immediate danger, Charles notices one of them getting a little too close to her to be deemed appropriate. His hand, previously on her lower back, now creeps lower to rest on her butt; Mother is nowhere in sight. 

Charles takes the opportunity to exit his group's conversation and stride over to the croquette match, which he has no problem interrupting. The man fondling his sister has black hair parted to the side and a height complex, because Charles can tell that he has lifts in his shoes. Emma has the right to do what she pleases with whomever she pleases, but receiving a marriage proposal is dependent on how virtuous her prospects perceive her, and allowing a stranger to feel her up in public will not broaden her choices. 

Without saying a word, Charles grabs the man by the wrist and pulls it away from Emma. The man may have yelled an expletive at Charles, but he's already dragging Emma back to their sister and friends. There's no need to interact with a food thief if it's only going to start a verbal argument or screaming match, especially since Charles is trying to avoid attention.

Raven is shooting daggers at the man, while Alex and Scott are already rolling up their sleeves in the event of a fight, and Charles barely resists rolling his eyes. 

"We're trying to _not_ attract attention," Charles reminds them. "Is that animal coming over?"

Raven checks over her shoulder and replies, "Nope. We're in the clear."

"Why did you do that?" Emma actually sounds affronted that he stole her away from that pervert. "He's the son of a French ambassador. His family has to have enough money to bail Mother and Kurt out of debt."

"Don't you think he was being a little forward?" Alex asks. Charles nods at Alex's words, hoping that maybe he can talk some sense into his sister. Emma was clearly uncomfortable earlier, so Charles doesn't understand why she's so upset with him. "And just because they have the money to pay off their debts, doesn't mean that they'll give it willingly. It's most likely they'll only receive enough to cover an eighth of what they owe."

"If you pull me away from everyone you don't like, then I'll never find a husband," Emma grouses. Her face is pinched with her lips pursed, and in that moment she looks so much like their mother, that Charles is taken aback. 

Raven takes her glass of rosé out of her hand and finishes it for her. "What are you talking about? I'm sure there are plenty of guys you can marry who are somewhat attractive and won't grope you in front of Mother and God." Emma gives her a look that is adverse to her genial constitution. "You have options, Emma."

Charles tries to not let himself grow too concerned with Emma's behavior, but it seems as though Mother has gotten to her. Not only is she going to do what is expected of her, but she seems desperate enough to sacrifice real happiness for a false fantasy that Mother has convinced her can fulfill her needs effectively. 

"Oh, good, Charles, I've found you."

Charles has to swallow his groan that naturally wants to emit itself whenever he hears his mother address him. She's wheedled herself into their circle with a blond young man at her side. His looks present him as put together and easy on the eyes, but the self-centered smirk on his face tells Charles that this is the kind of man used to getting whatever he wants, and by the way he's looking at Charles, he's sure that why Mother has brought him over. 

"This is Warren Worthington III." Mother quickly gets down to business with the introductions. "Mr. Worthington, this is my son, Charles Xavier." 

"Mr. Xavier." Warren's voice is rich like honey, and Emma looks as if she could faint. 

Charles reaches out to meet his extended hand and echoes, "Mr. Worthington." He can hear Alex and Raven trying to say his name about five times faster, and he wants to die.

Mother grabs Raven's upper arm and starts pulling her out of the circle. "Children, the Starks have a lovely koi pond that I want to show you. Why don't we leave Charles and Mr. Worthington to get acquainted with each other?"

Charles looks pleadingly at Alex, not wanting to be left alone with the first suitor of the evening, especially one examining him so intently from head to toe. Warren doesn't express any objections. In fact, he seems rather eager to get some time alone with Charles. 

The universe decides to have mercy on Charles when Alex nudges his shoulder and mutters, "Incoming." He's suspiciously eyeing Kurt, who's making his way toward their antisocial group with an academic looking man wearing glasses who can't be much older than Charles. The man has to be a suitor for one of them, and Kurt's approval of the man does not ease Charles's anxiety, because anybody Kurt likes must be as pleasant as surviving in the desert without water. However, the man's shy smile and kind eyes do not betray any obscene intentions. 

"Kurt," Mother hisses, obviously agitated by the interruption. 

"Dr. McCoy, these are my step-daughters, Emma and Raven Xavier." Kurt doesn't even bother introducing the rest of them, so Charles assumes that Dr. McCoy is hoping to marry one of his sisters. "Dr. McCoy is the Lehnsherr's family doctor, just like his father was before him." 

Dr. McCoy politely shakes Emma and Raven's hand, and then moves on to the rest as they introduce themselves. He takes particular care in formally introducing himself to Alex, who seems very pleased with himself as he charms three different shades of pink onto Dr. McCoy's face. Kurt remains oblivious, as he's too busy clearing his throat and trying to discreetly direct Raven's attention to Dr. McCoy, but she's content to watch Alex flirt with the poor doctor with a relaxed smirk. Emma shows little interest, her eyes fixated on Warren. 

"Gross," Charles hears Scott mumble, and he finally breaks free of their circle to drink another glass of wine behind an ice sculpture.  

Scott isn't wrong. Although Alex's charm comes through for him during the rare occasions he can work it on others, it's a disgusting sight for those immune to his attempts at coercion.

Dr. McCoy doesn't seem to be at all disengaged. He's interacting quite enthusiastically with Alex, listening intently whenever he speaks and laughing at certain points, earning a pleased grin from the other. Kurt sighs when Raven turns her back to them so she can wink at Charles. Having given up on getting her acquainted with the doctor,  he walks toward a waiter with a tray full of drinks. 

"Should we leave them to it?" Raven watches them fondly. "Maybe we should stay and embarrass him."

"I could regale the cute doctor with the tale of Alex's poopy underwear and how they ended up in the pool," Charles suggests. "I'd need another drink if you wanted me talk about how he lost his virginity." Mother, Emma, and Warren are absolutely affronted by their conversation. 

"Charles Francis..." Mother warns him. 

Warren steps a little closer toward Charles, tempting him to take a few steps back, and whispers, "This is clearly not the best time to get acquainted." He slips Charles a business card with his name and phone number on it. "Don't hesitate to call, Mr. Xavier." 

When Warren disappears, Mother digs her sharp nails around Charles's wrist. "The Worthingtons have been living in this country since the eighteenth century." Her stony voice sends chills down his spine. "Remember what is at stake, Charles. It would be in your best interest to welcome Mr. Worthington's pursuits." She pockets Warren's card in Charles's pants for him and leaves him nearly shaking in his shoes; he doesn't know if it's the fear of losing control of his life, or the anger he feels at the parent who's taking it away from him. 

"Hey!" Alex's voice is sharp, but his smile reaches his ears. "You're supposed to be my wingman."

Charles relaxes, retreating from his negative thoughts, and rejoins his circle of friends. He wraps his arm around his Alex, and looking at Dr. McCoy with mischief brewing, he says, "I suppose this is when I tell you that Alex is a true gentleman with a good work ethic and an intelligent mind, but I don't need people's first impression of me to be that I'm a liar, Dr. McCoy."

The doctor laughs, clutching his glass of red wine to his chest. "Please, call me Hank." Hank's genuine attitude is so refreshing. Next to Tony Stark, he's easily the most likable person Charles has met all evening. Even Raven is relaxed in his presence. "Alex was just telling me about his home. The country sounds quite lovely and peaceful."

Raven snorts. "It's hardly his." Hank has the deceny to look a little alarmed at her remark, but Alex's chuckle softens his expression.

"No, she's right. I'm a long-term guest."

"Nonsense," Charles scolds. "It's just as much your home as it is ours."

"Mr. Xavier—"

"It's Charles, Hank."

"Charles. I've heard so much about you."

And yet, maybe Hank isn't as innocent as he makes himself out to be. Kurt mentioned that he works for Erik Lehnsherr, and he must have been present when Kurt told everyone about Charles in Taunton. Everyone was certain that it was Erik who was interested in Charles, but maybe it's Hank. He seemed to be responding positively to Alex's advances, so it would make sense that Hank would like men.

"Dr. Marco was telling me about your extensive studies at Oxford. I'm quite impressed with your work in the _Oxford University Press._ "

Oh. 

Well, that isn't inappropriate. 

"Yes, we've got our very own family Einstein," Alex agrees. "You're quite the Einstein yourself, Doctor."

"Well—I mean...Yes, you could say that I'm quite intelligent, seeing as I've got my PhD, and I'm barely twenty-five." Hank's ears are bright red and he's feeding off of Alex's compliments. "I'm quite proud of the work I do, and I'm happy that Mr. Lehnsherr finds my services up to par."

"I'm sure your services are quite up to par."

"Alex, really!" Raven exclaims. "Dr. McCoy, I must apologize for my friend's behavior. He gets rather excited when he attends these kinds of events and forgets himself."

"Ms. Xavier, Hank is fine."

"Well, then, so is Raven."

"Yes. Raven." Hank nervously clears his throat under Alex's watchful gaze. "It's quite alright. Alex does not overstep himself."

"You sure about that?" Charles jests.

Alex's grin is a little forced as his fingers dig into Charles's shoulder. "I forgot to mention that Scott needs to speak to you and Raven. _Now._ "

Charles takes the hint and bids them a good evening, dragging Raven back inside the Stark's mansion. It's unbelievable that Alex isn't the one who needs to marry, yet he's the only person to have found someone he's taken a liking to.

Charles continues to ignore the stares and whispers of the other party guests and keeps his arm linked with his sister's. He grabbed everyone's attention when he first arrived, giving some people their fill of the man who can get pregnant, but he's still serving as the main attraction of the night. His family has the decency to not mention his second mutation, and it's something Charles prefers to ignore and pretend doesn't even exist. 

"Feeling up to reading some minds?" It's the third time Raven has asked since they've arrived, and although it's a game they used to play at parties when they were younger, Charles recognizes that most people would find such an activity invasive. 

"Why aren't you in your mutated form?" Charles decides to ask her. "We're among mutants, no one that would be frightened by your appearance. That woman by the piano has gills. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen your form at all since I've been home."

"It's nothing." He's surprised by her curt tone; she clearly doesn't want to broach the subject and successfully diverts his attention by pointing at a man across the room and saying, "Oh, my god, Charles. It's Azazel."

Azazel is a distinguished, yet intimidating man, in a very expensive looking navy tailored suit with a black tie. Unlike Raven, he has no problem with flaunting his mutated form, an exact replica of what he imagines Satan to look like, except Azazel looks very friendly as he entertains a small group of people. No one seems appalled or horrified by the red skin and tail, and maybe Rave will no longer hesitate to morph into her form when she sees how nobody at the party seems to mind other mutants' physical mutations. 

Charles doesn't plan on going over to introduce Raven and himself, but Azazel's eyes flicker briefly from the group he is talking to toward Raven and Charles, and he smiles like he knows them, or has been expecting their presence. He probably is, having been victim to hosting Kurt in Taunton two weeks earlier. 

Raven tugs on his hand, for whatever reason eager to go over and introduce themselves. Charles wants to voice his objections, but changes his mind when he notices that Azazel has eyes only for Raven. If Raven reciprocates the man's advances, Charles has no reason to keep them separated unless Azazel proves to be a threat to Raven's safety and happiness. 

"Hello, Mr. Beliar." Charles represses the surprised noise he wants to make at the exaggerated enthusiasm in Raven's tone. "I'm Raven Xavier, and this is my brother, Charles." She holds out her hand for Azazel to shake, but he gently lowers his face and brushes his lips over her knuckles. 

For the second time that night, Charles barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. 

"It's a pleasure, Ms. Xavier." His voice is like rich caramel, dripping pleasantries and catching the attention of everyone within a hearing radius. "Your stepfather has told me so much about his stepchildren, but I must admit, the way he spoke of your beauty does not hold true to the angelic form in front of me."

Yes, this is going to be a trying experience. 

"Mr. Xavier." Azazel takes Charles hand and shakes it, maybe even sensing his discomfort. "I'm sure the Starks are honored that you've taken time out of your busy schedule to attend their party. You're currently studying at Oxford, yes?"  

This guy is good. 

"I am, and it's no trouble," Charles lies. "We've heard quite a bit about the work you do in Berlin. Hopefully you will take the strides we need to integrate into human society."

Raven looks like she could rip Charles's head off. "Or maybe Mr. Beliar's work will integrate humans into _our_ society, Charles."

Not wanting to discuss politics at a party where everyone is dying to talk to the Xaviers, Charles swallows down his retort to Raven's comment. Thankfully, Azazel doesn't take notice of the tension between the siblings and is instead gesturing at somebody to his left. 

"Politics is a complicated line of work, and I detest talk of work at parties." A woman sidles up next to Azazel with dark hair and sharp features similar to his own. "May I introduce my sister, Magda Beliar."

"A pleasure," she utters in a slow and sultry voice that matches her elaborate up-do and blush dress. Magda is the perfect counterpoint to Raven's expressive personality, light hair, and maroon dress. The grim line her mouth is contorted into contradicts her cordial speech. "Brother." She turns toward Azazel so that she's shielding herself from Charles and Raven. "I've lost Erik."

"Are you sure?" Azazel looks around the room. "It's not like Erik to wander off and make friends."

"Do you mean Mr. Lehnsherr?" Raven's outburst elicits a smile from Azazel, but Magda's narrowed eyes dart toward Raven with dislike. "I've heard you do excellent work together. I watched the interview you and Mr. Lehnsherr gave in New York about the genetics research center you wanted to open there."

What she fails to mention is that she watched the interview on her phone, in the car, on the way to the party. 

"My brother and Mr. Lehnsherr are brilliant in what they do and passionate about their causes," Magada says with pride glowing in her voice. Charles thinks he sees the start of a smile, but the possibility that it's just a trick from the light is very high. 

Azazel's eyes brighten when he spots someone to his right. "Ah! I see our Dear Lehnsherr." 

A man is approaching the group who looks exactly like the photo Raven found on the Internet. He's taller than Charles imagined with eyes even more piercing than he previously thought. Charles believes the man to be a perfectionist, because there isn't a single hair out of place in it's short, styled wave. Erik must have a personal stylist at his disposal, because his black suit, accompanied with a matching skinny tie, looks too well put together for a man as busy as he is. 

Charles does a fantastic job at not lingering on Erik's grey, smoldering eyes, the long toned limbs his suit outlines, and the thick chestnut hair that one could easily run their fingers through. No, these physical attributes are overshadowed by the pained expression on Erik's face that could ward off even his mother.

Magda links her arm through Erik's as Azazel says, "Mr. Lehnsherr, I'm so glad I've regained your attention. This is Ms. Raven Xavier and her brother, Mr. Charles Xavier."

Erik doesn't say anything, merely offering a nod in their general direction, neither does he pay any attention to the girl fawning over him. Charles is surprised that he doesn't shake her off, everything from his unpleasant facial expression to his acrimonious body language giving off the impression that he doesn't like to touch or be touched. 

"Mr. Xavier," Azazel addresses him, "at a separate time, I would love to have your input on the genetics facility we'll be opening in two years. I hear that you're a few months shy of earning your PhD."

Charles is flattered that Azazel, like Hank, knows so much about the work he does, rather than the work his biology is capable of. If he weren't clearly interested in Raven, Charles would hope that Azazel would select him as his future companion. 

Charles beams. "That would be marvelous, Mr. Beliar." He steals a glance at Erik, who is not even discreetly checking the time on his Rolex. "My sister is fascinated by how my work can be applied to your politics and has much to contribute to the topic."

"Then she should join us, of course."

"I would be delighted," Raven responds with a charming smile she saves for moments of genuinity. 

There's a moment of silence, when Raven and Azazel share intense eye-contact that makes Charles's skin tingle. Magda is still gazing at Erik as if he's her saving grace, and Erik is still ignoring everyone in favor of staring at something behind Charles in boredom, completely checked out of the conversation. 

Azazel clears his throat and finally says, "Ms. Xavier, I wonder if you would accompany me outside for a game of croquet?" 

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Beliar." She accepts the hand he offers her and throws a smirk at Charles's way before allowing Azazel to escort her outside, leaving Charles with the two most dour people at the party. 

It's so awkward, being stuck with people he hypothesizes who would be impossible to hold a conversation with. Without having had one with them, Charles can't figure out a way to politely excuse himself form their company. However, Erik and Magda are not interested in engaging with him, so there's really no reason for Charles to worry about offending either of them and could probably leave without doing so; they probably wouldn't notice.

A girl around Magda's age wearing a hideous fur wrap sidles up to her and whispers excitedly in her ear. Magda indulges the girl's giggle with her own whispers, but manages to look poised with the occasional demure smirk she tries to get Erik to notice. 

The crackle of a speaker splices through the chatter in the room, causing some to cringe at the piercing sound. "Test, test." Charles recognizes Tony Stark's voice, but he cannot locate the man anywhere in the room. "Ladies and gents, we interrupt your scheduled programming with some of what my dear friend Wade calls, 'bootylicious beats.'"

Lady Gaga starts to blare through the speakers, encouraging the younger party guests to gather in the middle of the room and begin dancing with each other to the abhorrence of the older guests. Magda's friend tries to drag Magda to the group of dancers, but she grimaces and shakes her head in evident refusal. 

"Do you dance, Mr. Lehnsherr?" Charles regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth, because there's nothing about the severe Erik Lehnsherr to suggest that he would enjoy anything invigorating. 

Erik spares him a brief look before his eyes begin to roam the room again. "Not if I can help it."

What a shame that such a strong, lilting voice can produce such dull conversation. 

Charles is saved from having to salvage the discussion when Magda says, "Mr. Lehnsherr, you promised Senator Palmer a moment of your time." 

In their eyes, a United States politician is worth there time more than Charles is, because they have no problem leaving him standing alone without so much as a goodbye. He's never been so slighted by a stranger in his entire life. 

It's not at all dignified, but Charles locks himself in the Stark's gold and bronze colored bathroom for longer than necessary so he can process his thoughts his potential suitor, Erik Lehnsherr. 

Erik is a curt and unpleasant man who only attracts the company of curt and unpleasant people—Magda proved that point. Although he met some lovely people that evening—Tony, Hank, and Azazel—Charles still had the misfortune of meeting some very unfavorable people—Erik, Magda, and Warren. And he's sure that Mother will see to it that he continues to make the rounds.

Charles has half a mind to just up and leave the party, but he drove his sisters and friends to the party, and his Mother and Kurt drove in a two-seater. He decides that if he avoids his Mother and Kurt, then he can avoid being introduced to more people like Erik Lehnsherr. 

He slips out of the bathroom after fifteen minutes of alone time and lingers at the edge of the main room, still a part of the party, but closed off from conversation. There's no sign of Raven, so she's probably still outside with Azazel. Across the room Charles sees Mother with Kurt, still in cahoots by the looks of it, huddled together with Mother speaking rapidly into his ear. Charles follows her line of sight and sees that she's watching Emma in the middle of a group of young men, one of who is Warren, who spots Charles standing alone. 

By this time, the music had been shut off and people are back to mingling. Charles cut himself off earlier, but he's really tempted to grab another glass of wine from one of the waiters so he can forget the rest of the evening, but the last thing his family needs is for him to make a drunken fool of himself; they already have their mother to do that for them.

"I'm here to save you," a voice whispers in his ear when Warren starts to make his way toward Charles. He jumps in place, but relaxes when he sees that it's only Alex, who is quick to usher him out of the room and into the poorly lit hallway where Warren can't follow them. "Here." He shoves a flask into Charles's hands. "I figured we'd need them at some point during the night."

"Really, Alex?" Charles knows he fails at sounding reproachful and gives in to Alex's tempting offer as he opens his flask and takes a sip of the scotch. "Bored of Hank, already?"

"Not at all," Alex replies with a faint blush on his cheeks, "but I'm not going to stick to him all night like a twelve-year-old girl with a crush." He takes a sip from his own flask and has a look about him that says he knows something that Charles doesn't. 

"What?" Charles finally indulges his friend. 

"I saw you talking with Erik Lehnsherr."

Charles downs about half of the scotch in his flask so as to prepare for a discussion centered around the horrible Erik Lehnsherr. "Your eyes do not deceive you, my friend. I had the  _pleasure_ of meeting Mr. Lehnsherr."

"And?"

"He's a man of few words." That's the nicest way he can put the encounter. 

"Hank had nothing but nice things to say about your Mr. Lehnsherr."

"He's not my anything." Charles feels the need to make this very clear, because the idea of him being associated with a man like Erik Lehnsherr makes him want to drink like his mother. 

"I get the feeling that Hank is the kind of man that has nothing but nice things to say about everyone. Did you know that he—"

Charles holds up his hand when he hears a familiar laugh around the corner. Alex looks confused, so Charles mouths 'Azazel Beliar.' His friend makes an impressed face before taking another sip of his drink. Charles doesn't normally eavesdrop, something he finds very similar to reading people's minds, but when the opportunity presents itself...

"It's quite a splendid time, really. Ms. Xavier is quite a charming woman."

"I'll take your word for it."

Charles recognizes Erik's voice, and he embarrassingly grabs Alex by his shoulder and squeezes as something inside of him comes alive; he blames it on the scotch. 

"I left you to it with Mr. Xavier," they hear Azazel tell Erik. "I know, I know, you told me not to meddle in your personal affairs, but I thought you needed a little push. If you're interested, you should go for it."

Charles pinches the skin between Alex's neck and shoulder when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at him. Now that they have proof that Erik is interested in courting Charles, his family will never let him live it down. 

"Mr. Xavier is perfectly extraordinary, isn't he?" Azazel excitedly asks.

Erik audibly grunts. "More like barely tolerable. He's quite handsome, but his bland demeanor could only engross an insipid country bumpkin."

Never in his life has Charles ever heard someone, who wasn't Mother or Kurt, speak so lowly of him. He also finds the whole ordeal ironic, seeing as if there's anyone who has anything bad to say about somebody, it certainly shouldn't be Erik expressing such slander.

Charles has certainly met more brazen people during his time at Oxford, but there's something about Erik Lehnsherr that rubs him the wrong way. Erik is the type of man who holds himself to higher standards, someone that other people hold to higher standards, and maybe that's why Charles can't stand this man's air of superiority. 

The sound of receding footsteps alerts Charles to Azazel and Erik's exit, and he releases a breath he was unknowingly holding. 

Alex chuckles. "Tough break. At least his obvious dislike for you means that you won't ever have to spend time with him again, which means you won't have to marry him."

Charles barely takes notice to what Alex says. "I can't believe— _wow,_ someone like him insulting my character..."

"Charles," Alex says sharply, finally getting his attention. "You left your home before you were even eighteen to live in London. You drive an hour to get to school and another thirty minutes in the opposite direction to get to work. You've had two internships, and you're practically guaranteed a job after you get your PhD. Not to mention you're ready to sacrifice your future so your sisters can be financially supported. I also know you're working on a plan to get Raven to go to college. You're one of the best men I know, and a pompous ass like Erik Lehnsherr isn't going to change my mind."

This is what Charles misses most from Alex—his supportive friendship, something he lacked in London. The alcohol makes him want to lean into Alex, but he settles for steadying himself against the wall.

"Thank you, my friend. It's preposterous of me to let someone I don't know make me feel so terribly about myself."

"He could be jealous," Alex suggests. "Can you read their minds?"

"You know I still can't. Even if I could, the alcohol wouldn't make it easy."

Alex scoffs. "You can drink anyone under the table. What's happened to your tolerance?"

"I've been on and off suppressant for seven years," Charles responds tiredly. "I'm sure they configure in that anomaly."

Alex convinces Charles that finishing the scotch will make the rest of the evening pass more smoothly, and by the time he makes an appearance again, he's feeling the beginning of a very good buzz. Alex leaves him to converse with Hank again, so Charles sets out to find Raven, but then decides to leave her be when he finds her walking through the gardens with Azazel. 

Charles forgets alcohol makes him very agreeable, which is why Mother easily whisks him away from Scott and begins introducing him to more party guests. Emma joins them, politely taking compliments and feigning interest in the men's long speeches about their work, their families, and themselves. Charles can deal with the boring men—it's the perverts he can't stand. 

He meets a balding Mr. Ross, who wants to fly him to his vacation home in Fiji for a romantic weekend. Mr. Ellis reeks of paint and informs him of a play room in his mansion that he's convinced Charles he'll love. A ginger, baby faced Mr. Irah can't wait to impregnate him. Charles fulfills his duties, degrading himself along the way, listening to everyone who intends to propose marriage give him an idea with their crude behavior what marriage to them would be like. 

Charles is really put to the test when he finds himself being manipulated into socializing with Mother, Raven, Emma, Alex, Hank, Azazel, Erik, Magda, and Warren Mother is sloshed and embarrassing her children with her ill-advised commentary on the Stark's party guests in an attempt to make her children look more eligible to the group of wealthy bachelors. 

"Emma is quite the beauty." It must be the dozenth time she's mentioned this tonight. "Oh, but Lady Walters's daughter, Jennifer, is rather amiable. It's a shame she isn't more attractive."

 _"Mother."_ Charles feels his cheeks heat up. He steals a glance at Erik to gage his reaction, and then realizes that he shouldn't care how Erik perceives him or his family. However, Charles can't squash the embarrassment he feels when a small burp escapes Mother's mouth. 

"Hush, Darling." Mother pulls her drink closer to her when Raven tries to slyly dislodge it from her hand. "I mean, really, compared to my Emma she's just another face in the crowd. Even Raven fares better, doesn't she Mr. Beliar?"

Azazel looks taken aback at being addressed so shamelessly, but he easily brushes Mother off with a charming smile. "I enjoy Ms. Xavier's company immensely."

Charles has his eye on Scott, who is currently shoving shrimp puffs inside his pockets as if he's preparing for the apocalypse. It may be his paranoia, but Charles is sure that Magda keeps shooting him dirty looks; he didn't realize how much his presence offended Erik on her behalf.

"Of course, I could've married Emma off as soon as she turned eighteen easily enough," his mother continues, ignorant to her coarse behavior, "but my oldest daughter had just been married and was expecting her oldest."

"Moira's quite accomplished for a woman of her means," Alex contributes. "Wealthy housewives usually can't do much, but she's writing articles for—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Scott," Mother interrupts. "Moira doesn't work."

Charles wants to face palm when Mother calls Alex by his brother's name. 

"I hear that Mrs. Stryker is a human," Magda says, and Charles doesn't know what she she means by her comment. "She doesn't live in Taunton, does she?"

"Winchester," Mother supplies without much interest. "Taunton is quite lovely. Any of my children would be lucky to make a home there," she suggests desperately.

Charles tunes out of the conversation for a bit so he can work on his second glass of wine in peace, but is drawn out of the solitude of his mind when he hears his name. "Mr. Xavier, are you looking forward to the day you marry?" It's Warren who disturbed him, and he wishes for nothing more than for this man to lose interest. 

"I look forward to that day when the time is right," he responds smartly. "I take it you crave a monogamous union, Mr. Worthington."

Their private conversation is ignored by the others, to Charles's dismay, and there's no way for him to get out of the discussion. 

"I look forward to entering into a monogamous union when the right person comes along." By the way Warren is looking at him, he seems sure that Charles is said person.

Once again, Alex comes to Charles's rescue by asking Warren where he bought his suit and had it tailored. In the span of one evening, he's managed to get Charles to owe him at least three favors. Charles gladly re-enters the group's discussion. 

"Mrs. Stryker must have made a beautiful home." Azazel's compliments goes unnoticed by Mother, who is intent on talking up her children who have yet to marry. "I take it Mr. Stryker does well for himself?"

"It's about the only thing he's got going for him."

Charles finds himself chuckling at Alex's insult, and for whatever reason, this is what draws Erik into their conversation. 

"Are Mr. Stryker's other qualities not worth mentioning, Mr. Xavier?"

Charles regains his composure so that he may not seem even more incapable to Erik. "And what qualities would those be, Mr. Lehnsherr?"

Erik's stoic features remain unmoved. "Mr. Stryker must have won Mrs. Stryker over with more than just his work ethic."

"I'm sure that they've socialized at events like these," Azazel supplies. 

"Parties are a great way to meet new people," Charles agrees, "but there's almost no privacy for couples. Some events don't even have many activities, which limit people to just conversation."

Erik's now facing Charles, giving him his full attention. "You can get to know a person well through conversing with others."

Charles could laugh at the irony of Erik's words. "Surely, you do more than just talk with people to get to know them better," he teases. 

Impassive as ever, Erik's asks, "What would you suggest to convey affection that doesn't require words?"

Charles thinks back to the first thing he asked Erik earlier in the evening. "Dancing." He victoriously watches the man's expression fight to stay passive. "Even if one's partner is barely tolerable."

The realization that Charles overheard the insults he exchanged with Azazel dawning on Erik's face is the most memorable occurrence of the entire evening. With a triumphant smile, Charles decides that now is the perfect time to walk away and join Scott for another drink. 

He let's Alex and Raven's laughter wash over his energetic nerves and doesn't look back. 

 

 

*

 

 

Charles expects his sleep to be tempered by either more nightmares of disturbing thoughts of Erik Lehnsherr's proportionate, somber face, but it's Raven in a pair of sweats and a Beatles t-shirt wanting to talk about the evening that keeps him awake.

She looks around the room. "I thought Jean was in here."

"Asleep with the television on," Charles responds from his bed. Now that the alcohol has settled, he no longer feels the happy buzz from earlier and wants nothing more than to pass out. "I take it that tonight's events have your mind spinning."

"And yours isn't?" she asks in disbelief. Charles scoots over and makes room for her on his bed. "It was everything and nothing like I expected."

"How so?"

"Nearly everyone was dreadful," Raven groans. "I'm glad we left when we did, because I don't how much longer I could keep up my dignified act."

"That was an act?" Charles teases. "You seemed positively content with Azazel Beliar." Raven finds her fingernails very interesting, all of a sudden. "I have to admit, I'm surprised you took quite a liking to him."

Raven sighs, and then confesses, "I wouldn't say I've taken a liking to him. He was just so...out there. You _saw_ him."

"The red man was difficult to miss." Raven glares at him, and Charles softens his expression. "Oh, my dear." He wraps an arm around Raven and draws her closer to him. "I never said it enough, but you know I find you quite beautiful, blue or not. Someone like Azazel would be a hypocrite if he didn't find your mutation appealing." 

Charles realizes that it's moments like these when his sisters need him most, moments like these he missed because of the time he needed away from the mansion. There will never be enough Charles can do to repay his sisters for leaving them how he did. 

"Thanks, Charles."

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments before Charles asks, "Why do you like him?" He doesn't see any glaring reasons for her to not, but Raven usually takes awhile to warm up to strangers. 

"He thinks I'd do well in politics."

Charles freezes under her touch. 

"No."

"Excuse me?"

He has no right to insert himself into her life like this, especially after being gone for so long, but he fears that Raven will get herself into trouble in an attempt to break free from Mother's hold on the family. 

"Raven, I've been thinking that maybe you should live with me." He waits for her to say something, but his words are met with silence, so he continues. "There's a restaurant near my flat that's hiring. You could wait tables for a bit, and I could help you pay your tuition. It would help if you could get a scholarship, so you'd have to keep your grades up—"

"What about Mother and Kurt? We're supposed to get married so they can get out of debt."

"Leave that to me," Charles assures her. "Mother mentioned that people would be willing to pay billions for me. There's a chance that I alone can save them from debt without having to put your life on hold. Emma's never really shown an interest in being independent, but at least she'll get the opportunity to choose for herself."

"You're really doing this." Raven's voice is small and vulnerable, reminding Charles of when she was a child. "You'd marry a man like Erik Lehnsherr for us."

Charles feels his chest start to constrict at he thought, but he pushes past the pressure and replies, "Whatever it takes."

"There were times when I questioned if you still loved us." Charles can't bare to look at her anymore. "But you do things like this, and it reminds me how foolish I was."

"I dare say that I'm rather fond of you."

"I return the sentiment." 

They laugh like their lives aren't going to change drastically in the following months, and it makes them feel light and free from their problems. If it comes down to it, Charles would marry Erik to save his family, but he resolves himself to finding a better option, one that included a man who didn't find him so repulsive. 

To lift his spirits Charles says, "If I did have to marry Mr. Lehnsherr, I'd at least have something nice to look at."

"Will everyone start treating you like a girl?" Raven looks like she wants to laugh at her own question. "If they find out that you aren't a virgin, will they no longer want you? Oh, no, sorry."

"What?"

"You've gone white."

"Have I? It's fine." Raven looks at him skeptically. "I promise, there's nothing to worry about. It's just that once I think I've got a handle on all this, I feel myself losing control again." Before he's completely drowned in hopelessness, Charles asks her, "What do you think of my offer?" He's confused that she hasn't accepted it immediately. "You'll have a better chance out there with a college degree."

"I just need time to think about it, Charles."

He suspects that she has ambitions to join some sort of terrorist group, but doesn't want to confront her without proof. There's no way he'd let her give up college for a life running away from the law. Instead of dealing with Raven, he decides to turn his attention toward his other problem sister. 

"I'm worried about Emma."

Raven nods with a worried frown. "She was rather eager tonight." 

"I was under the impression that she abhorred this as much as we did."

"I told you when you first arrived that we've changed, Charles." 

Charles suspects that he'll see more evidence of this the longer he stays home and that just like with Emma, he won't like everything he sees. His opposition to some of these changes could be because of their reflection of his mother, but it could also be because of the nagging thought in the back of his head that if he had never left, maybe he could have prevented some of these changes from occurring. 

Jean had said that Charles didn't need to be her father, but their father is dead, and Kurt is less than adequate; this leaves Charles as the next best option. He failed as a brother, but maybe he could excel as a father. 

"Do you still like driving along the coast?" Raven perks up at the question. "I'll take you tomorrow. We can pack a picnic and enjoy it at the beach."

"That sounds lovely." 

"You better be up bright and early," Charles warns her. "I don't care how much you've had to drink tonight, we're getting up at eight and leaving by nine."

"Fine," she huffs before sliding off his bed. "I'll go to bed now."

"Goodnight, Darling."

She bids him goodnight and leaves him to another night of restless sleep. This time, his nightmares consist of Erik Lehnsherr and Magda Beliar, laughing at him as he tries to get out of a bed that he's tied down to. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](http://burningice2.tumblr.com/)

**WARNING: This chapter deals with past family physical and emotional abuse. Do not read if you are sensitive to this!**

 

_You see my problem is this_

_I'm dreaming away_

_Wishing that heroes, they truly exist_

_I cry watching the day_

_You see I'm a fool_

_In so many ways_

**"Oops!...I Did It Again" Julia Van der Toorn Cover**

 

Charles slowly but surely recovers more of his telepathic abilities over the next two weeks proceeding the Stark's party. Along with his family's emotions, he can sense their surface thoughts: when Jean is hungry, or when Emma is tired from her walk to and from town, even when Raven gets annoyed with Charles for taking too long to get ready for a day out.

He only gets sick once more the day after the Stark's party. After that, the worst of the side effects he experiences are changes in his appetite and sleeping patterns. There are some days when he couldn't stop eating and couldn't stomach the thought of taking a meal, and there are some nights that he doesn't even get the chance to fall asleep and wake to his recurring nightmares.

It turns out that Charles has no use for Warren's business card. He threw it out the morning after the party and hasn't thought of it since. Nothing much came from the party, except for getting Charles's name out there for those whom it would benefit to know that he's single and primed for marriage. He wonders why people haven't been demanding a doctor's note to prove that the claims his family is making about his secondary mutation are true, and Charles thinks that maybe it's best he doesn't know why people have not questioned his mother's claims.

An interesting development took place two days after the party when Magda called the house and requested that Raven meet her for brunch in Taunton. Charles can't imagine Raven getting along famously with someone as stuck up as Magda, yet she managed to fall for Azazel's charms after one evening.

Apparently, Raven and Magda do get along, because they have brunch together three more times after that. All the while, Mother is receiving requests from single bachelors to meet with Charles one on one—the nerve of them, really, to not directly speak with him. Like a good son, he indulges his mother and agrees to meet a few of these men.

None of them are very charming or memorable, and the only good to come out of these meetings are the free lunches.

Charles is surprised when Raven's fifth invite to brunch is extended to him as well.

When Raven tells him, she's splayed out on an inflatable pool lounger in all her blue-skinned glory, and the sun hits her so that the light glistening off the dark hue of her skin now matches the color of the lighter blue of the sky. Perhaps Azazel's display of his physical mutation inspired Raven to embrace her powers, because she is no longer holding them back when they're in the mansion, even a few days ago at the beach.

"Come on, Charles, please. You have to go, or else Magda will tell her brother that my family is rude, and then he'll never speak to me again and marry some boring entrepreneur's daughter—"

"Raven, you are being ridiculous," Charles berates her without looking up from _War and Peace. "_ A man as gracious as Azazel Beliar should not have objections toward you just because you're related to a bunch of antisocial heathens." He doesn't bother mentioning that she shouldn't take advantage of Azazel's feelings for her, but that would be quite hypocritical of him, seeing as he plans to do the same with whatever adequate benefactor is unlucky enough to cross his path. 

In a perfect world, Charles would fall madly in love with someone in the short span of a few weeks, and they would live happily ever after—meaning that his husband would recognize that the mutant race is regressing back to medieval methods and encourage Charles's work. He'd appreciate Charles for the independent man he is, seeing no reason to object to Charles's dream of earning his PhD and having a job separate from his home life. 

But this is the real world, and the best any mutant woman can ask for is being in a marriage that values mutual respect. It would be a miracle if the girl is properly college-educated so she can get a job and not have to be financially dependent on her husband. If only Mother allowed Moira to go to college. Would she have considered marrying Bill, tempted by generations of family wealth? Or would the numerous opportunities in London compel her to start over, just like it did to Charles?

"I'll think about it," he finally caves when Raven's splashing begins to ruin his paperback. 

Charles doesn't think about it for long until he decides that there is no way in hell he's joining Raven and Magda for brunch. He's usually very good at deciphering people's true characters based on first impressions, and Charles knows that, for whatever reason—he's willing to bet it has something to do with Erik Lehnsherr—Magda does not like him.  

Later that day, Mother corners him in his bedroom, rudely cutting off his phone conversation with Moira. "Inform Raven that you will be joining her for brunch tomorrow. _Now._ " 

"Call me later," Charles hears Moira tell him before she hangs up, and he really wishes she hadn't done that. 

Just to be a shit, he opens the CandyCrush app on his phone and offhandedly says, "I can't."

"Because, clearly, you're so busy."

"And whose fault is that?" This back and forth between them could go on forever, but the sooner Charles ends this, the sooner he can find Jean and paint with her, so he directs the conversation away from an impending argument. "What have you concocted this time?"

She's looking at him as if he's been called into the principal's office. "Magda will be joined by her brother and Mr. Lehnsherr."

And just like that, Charles is more determined than ever to not make an appearance at brunch. Jesus Christ himself could be present, but Charles's attendance would still be deterred by the horrible Erik Lehnsherr.

His expression must convey these thoughts because his mother declares, "Charles Xavier, you _will_ go to that brunch."

"How would that benefit anyone?" he tries. 

"Playing dumb has never become you, Dear."

Charles feels himself slump in surrender. "So you know, then?"

"If you're asking if I know that Erik Lehnsherr travelled to Taunton specifically for you, then the answer is yes. I know." Her cruel smile says that she's won, but Charles has one more move up his sleeve.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Alex will confirm that Mr. Lehnsherr expressed a strong abhorrence of me at the Stark's a few weeks ago."

"Which is why this is your chance to make a lasting impression, better than the one you initially gave him," she easily retaliates.

Like she could do better. The Stark's party proved that the Erik isn't exactly her biggest fan either.

"Charles," she snaps when he rolls his eyes, and then she sighs as if what she has to say is going to pain her. "If you go to brunch, this will all be fixed. You can undo this mess, because if there's anyone who can get through to Erik Lehnsherr..." 

It's the closest to a compliment he's going to get from his mother.

"You either go to Taunton or call Mr. Worthington."

"Fine," he agrees. At least Raven would be with him at brunch. He also no longer has Warren's card after throwing it out. "I'll go tomorrow."

Before he goes to sleep that night he calls Moira back and apologizes for abruptly ending their conversation earlier that day. Being away from the mansion has made her a much calmer person. He can always tell when Bill is home, because she speaks in short clipped sentences and can never stay on the phone for too long. Bill still seems to be in London, because Moira is more than willing to listen to woes, which he does realize are not as troubling as most people's, but he has a right to complain if that's what he wishes.

"You know, Charles, you can be quite petty."

"Moira!" he groans obnoxiously in distress. "I appreciate you being the one to always put me in my place, but now is really not the time."

"Just. Like. Mother."

"How dare you make that comparison," he huffs petulantly. "You weren't there. Erik Lehnsherr detests me with his entire being. All it took for Mother to convince me to go tomorrow is one measly indirect compliment. I'm pathetic."

"Mother doesn't seem to think so," Moira points out. "In fact, it sounds like she has the utmost confidence in your swindling abilities. And just so you know, I believe that if you put your mind to it you can have Erik Lehnsherr bending to your every whim."

He tries not to sound hopeful when "Really?" slips out of his mouth. If he can help it, he'd rather be married to someone who likes him. He also doesn't mention that Kurt and Cain are very much immune to his charms. 

Charles hears her sigh. "Yes, really." The sound of running water comes from her end. "I'm running the children a bath. You should get some sleep. You'll have to be up early tomorrow for the drive. Do try and get some sleep."

Sleep has been pointless since he's been home, and the nightmares haven't ceased. If he's lucky, sometimes he'll wake up knowing that his sleep was restless, but won't have any memory of what haunted his dreams.

 

 

*

 

 

Raven has to practically drag Charles out of bed the next morning, pulling at his ankles like a querulous child. He barely takes in her yells about broken promises and how his habit of abandoning family was not left in London. He really has no choice other than submitting to her needs after the hell he's put her through. 

His sister is not satisfied with the rude wake-up call she gives him and decides that she must take over the rest of his morning and perform every measly task for Charles. She rummages through his closet and and tosses his clothes she wants him to wear on his bed—while he's still in it—and insists on driving since she's recently been to Taunton. He all but throws a fit when she insists on styling his hair. He, once again, is forced to shut his mouth when the baby blue button down and navy slacks actually look good on him. 

To spite her he puts on his light gray tweed jacket that actually belonged to their great uncle.

"No." Raven's eyes narrow in disapproval. "Charles, why?"

"I like it. And it's quite comfortable. Oh, come now," he says with a grin when Raven feigns disgust with the heaving sounds she makes to mimic vomiting. "I must say, you look rather darling in your sundress, but I know you'd rather be in a pair of leggings and a loose blouse."

"Shut up." She reaches toward his head to fix his hair once more, but he playfully swats her hand out of the way in warning. "Let's go! I swear, every time I go somewhere with you we always arrive late. You're chronically tardy."

Charles only grunts, because what's she's saying isn't a lie.

Charles is rather glad that he let Raven bully him into letting her drive, because he dozes off peacefully for the first twenty minutes of the drive. He doesn't fall asleep, but he's lulled by the sound of the wind that rushes past their black 1965 Ford Mustang. He's glad Raven didn't put too much effort into styling his hair, because they're driving with the top down, and Raven's hair is barely being held together by the scarf she wrapped around her head.

There's a game plan, because one needs a game plan when they're stepping onto the same field as Erik Lehnsherr. The man doesn't seem to respond well to people, no matter how they're acting, even when they're like Magda, who believes the way to Erik's Grinch heart is to shower him with compliments. Charles is almost sure he would rather take a bullet than pay Erik a compliment as tiny as praising the polish on his shoes. All Charles can think to do is act as normally as he would in any social situation; he is going to use good manners and keep the conversation flowing so that the majority of the group feels as comfortable as possible. Even if this behavior doesn't do anything to lighten Erik's mood, maybe it could prevent it from growing too sour.

Charles's chest seizes up when he feels the car come to a halt and hears Raven put the car in park. There's no turning back, and that thought is the only thing preventing Charles from fleeing the parking lot, something he's willing to do on foot if it came down to it. He's skilled in the craft of deception—he learned from and was raised by the best—but he doesn't know if he can muster up the ability to flatter Erik and pretend to have any interest in him. The worst part of this situation is Charles has no way to pull this off while keeping his dignity intact.

"Chin up, smile bright," Raven instructs, sounding eerily like Mother. "Look ravishing, damn it. Up for some mind reading? That might put you at ease. You're radiating tension."

"Gee, I wonder why," he gripes. " And I'm still trying to regain the full use of my telepathy, so I couldn't read their minds even if I wanted to. Also, you know I don't like doing that. It's an invasion of privacy."

Raven hums thoughtfully. "Should your powers be taking this long to come back?"

"I don't see any need to worry, since my condition is improving every day."

They spot their guests at an outdoor table on the patio, and Azazel, Magda, and Erik are the picture of wealth in their expensive clothing and regal bearing, creating a natural distance from everyone else surrounding them. It all makes Charles want to bolt, but Raven's got her arm linked with his, knowingly preventing him from abandoning her.

The mimosa waiting for Charles at the table may or may not have anything to do with his decision to stay. 

It's not a surprise when Azazel is only one to stand up and greet them. "Mr. Xavier. Ms. Xavier."

"Mr. Beliar," Charles greets him back with a polite shake of the hand. 

"A pleasure to see you again so soon," Raven says, allowing Azazel to take her hand and press it to his lips and keeping hold of it for a few moments afterward. It's a little too forward, but it's who Raven is, and Charles likes seeing bits of her personality shine through when they're around other people.

"It is, isn't it?" Magda almost sounds polite. She doesn't even seem to mind that Charles is here, and he assumes that Raven must have warmed her up to the idea of him tagging along. "I hope you don't mind our new brunch guests, Raven."

"Not if you don't mind mine." Raven, then, looks at Erik. "Mr. Lehnsherr." 

Charles knows it's his turn to step in, and after greeting Azazel and Magda politely with a bit of charismatic flourish to turn on the charm, he turns his attentions to Erik, whose face betrays no sense of enthrallment with Charles extroverted aura. 

"It's a wonderful morning, isn't it Mr. Lehnsherr?" Charles asks after he and Raven take their seats.

"Quite." 

Erik's monosyllabic response is less than shocking. 

Raven gives Charles a pointed look.  _Try harder._

"My sister and I are driving to Winchester to visit Moira and her children," Charles elaborates. "There's a street fair that the children will enjoy. What better way is there to gather people for an event than by setting up food carts along the entire street?"

Charles holds his smile in place, yet Erik's features remain unchanged from the moment Charles approached their table, unreadable and blank. 

It's ridiculous, really. He's clearly trying to engage everyone in pleasant conversation, and it's almost as if Erik thinks this is a game and is getting off on making Charles work for his attention like some kind of show dog...

And that's just it, isn't it? Erik is used to the attention being on him, expects people to attend to his every whim and want his good favor. He heads a company, for fuck's sake, he makes his living by getting his ass kissed. He's insanely attractive—Charles isn't  _blind—_ and is most likely offered lays from strangers off the street. Erik Lehnsherr has looks and money to get him by, and it makes Charles absolutely sick to his stomach. It doesn't matter that he has poor manners, because his other attributes are enough for people to pass over his behavior.

So maybe he's been going about this the wrong way. It's not as if he's been throwing himself at Erik Lehnsherr, but he has been a bit of a suck-up, trying a little too hard to encourage Erik to converse with him. Maybe being treated like he's invisible will incite a change of attitude. He highly doubts it will, but he isn't sure how much longer he can pretend to want Erik's company. 

"I accompanied Magda to a street fair in Vienna about a month ago," Azazel adds helpfully. "You may have heard that it was disrupted sometime into the afternoon by the Brotherhood."

Charles notices Raven's interest in the current conversation peek considerably. "Really?" She straightens up in her seat, and Charles slips a hand on her knee in warning.

"Although their approach is aggressive and somewhat disagreeable, I can't argue with some of the stances they take in regards to their values system."

"Azazel, please," Magda reproaches him. "It wouldn't have to be this way if the humans would just leave us alone."

Raven is practically begging Charles with her eyes to not jump in and announce his human-mutant relations ideals, and he supposes that he can quiet his opinions if the subject is changed quickly enough. He can't help himself from jumping into these kinds of discussions—especially since they relate to his future career path. 

Ignoring Erik entails showering his attention on either Azazel or Magda, and the choice is really quite simple. "Mr. Beliar, I heard that you'll be at the car show Howard Stark is hosting through his charity."

"Of course," Magda responds for her brother. She seems more willing to speak to Charles now that he's intent on ignoring Erik. "We're bringing our Dodge Coronet Convertible." 

Charles barely manages to not choke on his mimosa. " _Really?_ " He thinks Magda is trying to hold back a smirk in favor of looking bored of her own luxury, the norm that it is for her family.

Azazel grins. "I bought it four years ago at an auction in Chicago for my birthday. I had a good financial year, so I donated some of that money to the children's hospital, then bought myself a car after my last one's engine died."

"A politician who's involved with charities," Raven says in slight awe. "That's so..."

Azazel chuckles. "It's a cliche, I know. But..." He glances briefly at Erik, who shrugs in return. "Erik and I are activists for mutant rights. We work closely with politicians, and I was one briefly, but that's not really how we make a living."

Kurt was either misinformed or talked these men up for Mother's sake. Politicians or not, they are clearly doing very well for themselves.

Raven giggles, and Charles is disturbed when he can't figure out if it's genuine or practiced. "Mr. Beliar, your perceived image of me is marred if you think me enticed by seats of power." Her radiating smile mirrors his. "I do, however, admire a man who's generous with his purse."

At this point, Charles tunes out the conversation, not a fan of his sister flirting with potentially dangerous men. He chances a look at Erik, who's obviously studying him with interest, but quickly tears his eyes away so Charles doesn't notice. 

There it is.

"Ms. Beliar," Charles addresses her, "you must tell me more about life in Berlin. I've always wanted to experience their rich culture and extensive history."

He barely listens to a word Magda says about eating quarkkäulchen in Dresden cafes. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on Erik taking generous sips of his mimosa. He wonders if the brooding man feels out of place around people in general or just people who don't take an interest in him. Erik is clearly uncomfortable, sticking his hand in his pocket to take out his phone to occupy himself, but resisting because that would be poor etiquette—though that hasn't stopped him before. Sitting in between two people who are having conversations without him has got to be frustrating and embarrassing. 

Charles gets a strange thrill watching the uptight and controlled Erik Lehnsherr squirm. It's like seeing a celebrity trying to hide from paparazzi, and Charles is giddy with victory. He finds that he enjoys this feeling of superiority he has over Erik. 

Just when Charles is starting to really bask in his triumph, Erik has to ruin it by being unpredictable and fixing Charles with a challenging gaze, refusing to break eye contact. With one look, Erik's managed to make him feel as if his mind and body are being invaded, and he's beginning to understand that Erik has caught up with his game and already knows the rules, his finger infuriatingly and delicately circling the rim of his glass. Charles can't tear his eyes away.

It's infuriating, losing control of himself like this. He forgets to breathe for a moment, and Erik's previously cold eyes now look alive and full of purpose, but Charles doesn't know what that purpose is. Does Erik want to humiliate him? Toy with his feelings? Not that there are any feelings! But maybe he wants to make Charles have feelings and lead him on just to crush him in the end, because that's just something Erik would probably get off on.

If this is what the rest of Erik Lehnsherr's stay in Taunton is going to be like, Charles needs to up his game. 

"Charles, don't tell me you're pissed out of your mind, already."

And just like that, the moment is gone.

Everyone chuckles quietly to themselves, and Erik is smirking like the smug prick he is. Magda looks insulted by Charles's rudeness, and he doesn't blame her. He probably looked like a bloody idiot staring at Erik the way he was.

"Don't be silly, Raven," he grouses. "I haven't even finished one mimosa."

"Don't be silly, Raven," his sister mocks him. "He tells me this daily, yet I think he's the silly one, parroting the same thing over and over."

Azazel and Magda laugh, and Charles is horrified when Erik's mouth forms what he thinks is supposed to be a smile, but ends up looking like a predatory toothy smirk. Now, Charles really might become ill. 

He remains detached from the conversation until the waiter comes to take their order and refuses to look at Erik, chiming in whenever anyone asks him a question, but not bothering to ask any of his own. 

It isn't until they receive their food that Charles regains himself and jumps back into the discussion. "Raven used to not eat anything green or yellow."

"Charles!" Raven exclaims. 

"It was quite adorable, really. And it's been such a delight to see those same qualities arise in our nephew. It's like going back in time."

"Well, Charles used to wet the bed."

"Dear, God, woman!" Azazel wheezes in between laughs as Charles puts one of his hands over Raven's mouth. "You're shameless!"

Erik continues to smile devilishly at him, and Charles feels as if he could drop dead right then and there, because Erik Lehnsherr knows that Charles used to wet the bed. 

"Should we have the waiter give us a few napkins for you to lay on your chair in case of an accident, Mr. Xavier?" Magda teases with malicious mirth.

"I'm sorry," Raven apologizes. "Charles has moved on from that and is now on his way to getting a PhD."

"Do you plan on returning to your studies?" Azazel asks, and although Charles doesn't like people prying into his private life, he can't ignore the genuine interest in Azazel's tone or the change of topic.

"I hope to return to school as soon as possible," Charles words carefully, watching Erik's reaction to what he says in order to gage if he agrees with what he's saying. "Some people seem to think the progression of my education will be up to my husband." 

Erik's eyes narrow, and Charles doesn't know what to make of it. 

"Well, of course. You don't want to end up like Moira," Magda tactlessly comments.

The silence at the table is deafening. 

"Magda," Charles barely hears Azazel say under his breath. Even Erik has the decency to look a little abashed at Magda's audaciousness. 

"She's right," Raven says, kind enough to save Magda from too much embarrassment. "Mutant social constructs have regressed in an attempt to purify the race. Now, we're Victorian women living in a modern era, destined for Victorian marriages. Does Charles's mutation mean that this is the same fate that waits for him?"

It's the first time Charles's mutation has been brought up in a social setting, and the relevance of this brunch starts to weigh on Charles. He's here for a husband, and that husband could possibly be Erik Lehnsherr, no matter how much Charles dislikes the thought. 

"Do you believe in the concept of a happy marriage, Ms. Xavier?" Erik directs the question at Raven, but is looking at Charles, his schooled impassive expression back on his face.

"It's a possibility," she says decidedly, eyes only for Azazel.

Charles can't stop looking at Erik, wondering what he could possibly be getting at, when he unexpectedly starts to pick up a mind that isn't his own. It's overwhelming, all of a sudden being bombarded with these thoughts that aren't being produced by his brain. This mind is unfamiliar to Charles, a maze of unfamiliar worries and undiscernible musings, so he knows that it isn't Raven he's sensing. He isn't reading much off of whoever this is, only that they're tense and cautious, almost as if they aren't trusting of some or all of the people at this table. He rules out Azazel, who's enraptured with Raven, leaving Magda and Erik as his only options.  

"Have faith in men like Mr. Beliar," Erik says. It's stupid, but Charles swears that the way Erik's mouth creases and eyes slightly narrow when he's addressing Raven means that it's his mind he's sensing.

But Magda has more reason to not trust him. He can't prove it, but Magda may feel that her possible engagement to Erik is threatened by Charles, which means she not only knows Erik's sexual preferences, but his reason for being in Taunton. However, Erik's stay in Taunton doesn't mean that Charles is his only consideration for marriage. Magda could very well be in that running.

Erik has the upper hand, so why all the suspicion? 

"Are you saying Mr. Beliar would make any woman a fine husband?" Raven asks lightly.

"Anyone would be lucky to have my brother," Magda supplies for Erik, who seems to have spoken his fill for the rest of the morning and has retreated back into himself, severing the mental connection he had with Charles. 

"You do seem very pleasant, Mr. Beliar," Raven agrees, with an undertone of possible interest in finding out what kind of husband Azazel would make. 

The rest of the meal goes smoothly from there, with Erik paying for his meal, Azazel paying for his and Magda's, and Charles paying for his and Raven's. When they part ways, Charles shakes everyone's hands, including Erik's—the exchange brief and uncomfortable—and as soon as he and Raven get into the car, she lets loose. 

"I believe Azazel Beliar is considering asking me to marry him." She's smug at the prospect and oblivious to Charles's trepidation. 

"And that's what you want?" Charles asks. Raven makes a noncommittal noise, and he continues to worriedly question her intentions behind her quest for Azazel's hand. "Why would you want to marry him?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she responds neutrally.

"Tell me the truth, Raven. I don't want you playing with this man's feelings."

"Who says he wants to marry me because of his feelings?" Raven starts the engine and begins to back out of their parking space. "This would be an advantageous marriage for both of us."

But it wouldn't be, because their lives are more complicated than that. 

"You stand to get more out of this marriage than he does, Raven." He fails to keep his frustration with her in check. "You know this!"

He and Raven used to share everything together, but their time apart put a wedge between them. She always told him that everything would be different when he returned, but he didn't know her words extended to their relationship.

"You mean Mother, Kurt, and Cain."

"As far as we know, they don't have a mutated gene in their family history, and there are some people—one of them could be anybody we just brunched with—who would object to marrying any of us because of our familial ties."

Raven takes a sharp turn at a stop sign, sending Charles veering into his door. "Do you not want me to get married?"

"Of course, I don't!" he exclaims. "I want you to go to school, get a job, live life on your own terms instead of someone else's."

There's a beat of silence before she speaks again. "And what if I want to marry Azazel Beliar?" She's challenging him, and Charles wonders if the question is meant to spite him or if she's actually serious. "Maybe I can get what I want by marrying him."

"What is it you want, my dear? Because I know it certainly isn't a husband."

Her mouth remains firmly shut, and she refuses to answer his question. Charles knows that Raven has an ulterior motive, and he's not sure if he wants to find out what that could be.

 

 

*

 

 

It turns out that the charity car show Howard Stark is hosting appealed greatly to his parents, because Charles's sleep is interrupted at nearly seven in the morning by his mother demanding to know why he isn't dressed. 

"We're leaving in twenty minutes, and you've fallen asleep in the middle of the day. Do you take any of this seriously?" Her shrill voice cuts through his head, increasing the migraine that was his reason for going to bed early the night before. 

Charles sits up and stretches until he feels that fresh pop between his shoulder blades. "Where is it that you're dragging me to?" he manages between yawns. 

Mother strides toward his closet and shuffles through the hangers for something appropriate that he could wear. "Howard Stark is hosting a charity car show in Bristol. We're taking the Ford Mustang, of course, and Jean is coming along. This isn't anything terribly formal, so I don't see the harm in letting her have some fun. However, this doesn't mean that you shouldn't take advantage of the situation."

Charles glares childishly at the lilac sweater she lays on his bed. "And what situation would that be, Mother?"

"This occasion's informality does not mean that the event will not be lacking in attendance," she huffs. "This is the perfect opportunity to get Erik Lehnsherr alone, even in a small group, if you must." He's about to talk his way out of attending when his mother says, "Raven told me brunch was successful for the both of you."

Charles isn't sure if that's what he'd call it. He successfully earned Erik's attentions, and whether those came with his favors is still to be determined. Raven successfully charmed Azazel into wanting nothing more than to see her again, yet there still hasn't been talk of marriage. 

Thinking of brunch is only addling Charles's nerves, and he wants to look and feel his best if he has to see Erik today. He has to be pleasant and charming, but can't let Erik place him in an amenable position. Charles can't lose control of such a situation like that again. He doesn't know if it would allow him to maintain his dignity and self-respect.

"There weren't any roadblocks, if that's what she means." He chooses his words wisely. "You know how much she can exaggerate." Maybe brunch went swimmingly for Raven, but he's still very uncertain where he and Erik stand. 

Instead of interrogating him for his cryptic response, she makes a disapproving noise and gives him an expectant look before leaving him to get dressed. When she turns around to leave, Charles doesn't miss the blotchy bruise right under her neck, a dark spot on otherwise unmarked skin. She's gone before he can say anything.

There were times, especially when Cain was still around, when taking out his anger on their mother was not enough for Kurt, usually when their mother wasn't around. Once, he took a golf club to the back of Moira's legs after he lost some money in a bet. Another time it was a frying pan to Raven's face after a strenuous day at work. And there was that one time he dared to raise a hand to little Jean when she accidentally broke his watch. 

Charles tried to take the brunt of his outbursts and physical offenses. Even Alex took a beating or two for the family that welcomed him into their home. Together, the two of them protected their siblings and Charles's mother as best they could with their smaller frames. It became easier the older they got, especially when Alex shot up like a weed and started to put on muscle. Kurt found himself on the receiving end of a punch to the face after delivering a kick to Scott's stomach. That was the last time he laid a hand on any of them, but it looks as if he still manages to lash out at their mother in the privacy of their bedroom.

Only once did Charles approach his mother on the matter of getting rid of Kurt. The proper thing to do would be to report him to the authorities, but his mother wouldn't hear of bringing such shame upon the family; she wouldn't even consider a divorce. Looking back, Charles could've done something, anything to prevent the dysfunction from growing among them like a weed. But he was a child when this all started, and if he went to therapy, he's sure that his therapist would tell him none of this was his fault, and a child can't uphold the same responsibilities an adult should. Charles finds that seeping in guilt and self-hatred is much easier. 

Kurt and Mother take the Ford Mustang, leaving Alex to drive everybody else in an SUV that belonged to his mother before she passed away. It's a hilarious sight, all of them crammed into an old dirty SUV, but not so hilarious that Mother doesn't give strict parking instructions once they reach the venue. 

"She's embarrassed of your car," Raven informs Alex smugly. "We'll be walking a bit of a ways."

"With good reason," Emma says.

"You should stay as far away from me as possible," Scott notifies her, "because I will be embarrassing all of you as I get drunk under one of the dessert tables."

"What if they don't have dessert tables?" Jean asks.

"Any table will do."

"Scott," Charles says with commanding authority, "do not let Jean take a drink. Do you hear me?" 

Jean sticks her tongue out at him. "Because you've never had a drink before being legal, right?"

Charles is firm in his stance. "It's illegal. We don't need anybody getting into trouble. And don't let any of these pervs try and buy her a drink," Charles adds as an afterthought. "I was absolutely appalled when that happened with Raven when she was your age."

Alex hits a trashcan as he squeezes into a tight parking space. There's barely any room for them to open their doors, so they have to roll down the windows and crawl out. Emma makes a fuss, but they manage to make it to the event in one piece. After presenting their invites, Emma spots a group of gentlemen Charles recognizes from the Starks' party, and Scott immediately drags Jean over to a food stand to avoid mingling with guests. As tempted as Charles is to join them, he knows that he has a job to do.

Before she can follow Alex and get into any trouble, Charles links his arm through Raven's and steers her away from the food and toward the lines of cars. "Time to find that future husband of yours." Besides, Alex probably has a certain doctor he intends to mingle with for the remainder of the event. 

Raven turns her head and watches Emma's retreating figure. "You know she needs an escort."

Charles sighs. "I know, but..."

"Yeah."

The cars are organized by model and year, so it only takes them about fifteen minutes to find Azazel's car, where the man himself is showing two girls a little older than Raven the upholstery. They giggle at his every other sentence and ask if they can touch the car. Azazel entertains their fancies, but he isn't flirting. Charles glances at Raven, who doesn't look at all jealous. In fact, she looks rather amused at the display the women are making. 

"It's hilarious, really," she comments. "They think they have a chance with him." 

Charles pinches her hand, and she draws it back from him to only smack him upside the head. 

"Magda is nowhere in sight." Charles's words contain a hint of mischief. 

"I notice another person of prominence who is absent," Raven says, her voice level with Charles's. 

Indeed, Erik Lehnsherr is nowhere in sight, probably off eating a baby. Charles can't work out if he's grateful or disappointed by the circumstance. He clears his throat and looks around nervously, and then points out, "I wonder if Alex managed to find Hank."

Raven ignores him and is quick to abandon his side in favor of Azazel's company. Again, he is reluctant to leave a sister alone with anybody courting her, but doing so at an event that Jean is allowed to attend can't be severely taboo, so he leaves his sister to her pursuits as he chases his own. 

During his perusal of the event, Charles catches sight of Alex and Hank deep in enthusiastic discussion, Hank laughing at Alex's excited gesticulations. To strangers, this may look like a friendly exchange, but Charles knows how Alex acts and looks when he's romantically interested in someone, an occurrence that hasn't taken place very often.

Charles doesn't see Erik Lehnsherr or anybody else he knows, so he decides to take Scott's advice and joins him and Jean near the refreshments, easy to give up on his excursion to find Erik. He forgoes any alcohol and has some water to ease his still present migraine and easily falls into petty gossip.

"Alex says he saw her in Gloucester at a pub with James Proudstar," Scott informs them. He points out a blonde woman with shoulder length hair and a pink sundress. She's sitting in the lap of a slightly older gentleman, laughing lightly whenever he says something and brushing locks of hair behind her ears.

"Why is that gossip?" Jean asks. 

"Because her dad's in Parliament."

Charles smirks. "Human." Some humans like the allure of mutant society and find connections to get them into these kinds of events. Humans with enough money and a penchant for mutant company, like the Starks, could host parties and charities and be guaranteed mutant attendance. 

"Yes," Scott affirms. 

"What could she be doing here?" Jean asks as Tony Stark approaches her from the side. She's quick to abandon the man she's with for Tony, who lets her cling to him like a life raft. "Well, that explains it." Tony takes a moment to look away from his date and spots Charles's group, greeting them with a wave. "Oh, he's coming over," Jean squeals. 

"You know Tony Stark?" Scott asks a little stiffly. 

"He's a billionaire, Scott, of course I know who he is."

"Charles Xavier!" Tony bellows as he drags his date toward them. "You know, I really hoped to see you again. You can keep up with at least half of my witty dialogue and tech-speak. Not a total imbecile."

"Thank you..." Ah, yes, Tony Stark is a prick whose only form of flattery is a backhanded compliment. However, he's friendly and doesn't want to marry Charles, so he's willing to put up with Tony if it means not having to mingle with any of the other guests.

"Mr. Stark, I'm Jean Xavier." The poor girl barely contains herself as she holds out her hand for him to shake. Charles holds his breath and watches Tony assess her before shaking her hand with some measure of amusement. 

"What's with the stars and stripes accent? Sorry," he adds on, not sounding particularly remorseful, when Scott takes a protective step closer to Jean. "Can't help my inquisitive nature."

"Half of Mother's family is from New York," Charles supplies for Jean. "We spent much of our childhood with Scott and his family, as well, who are from the States." 

"Tony," his date whines. Her eyes are glazed from the drinking she must have partook in earlier. "I wanna— _hic—_ ride in your Porsche." She's wobbling dangerously in her heels, and Charles knows that she's going to be down for the count by the end of the hour.

"It's been a brief, but immense pleasure," Tony salutes them as he makes his exit. "I promised Charlotte a ride—"

"Caroline."

"Yes, Clara. Oh!" The afterthought makes Tony jolt. "I almost forgot. That scary looking German with the angry mouth is looking for you, Charles."

Damn him. "Me?" It's difficult to ignore Jean's giggles. "Why? What could he possibly want—?"

"Oh, I  _know_ what he wants." Tony suggestively wiggles his eyebrows, and Charles wants the ground to eat him up so that everyone would stop looking at him. "That red buddy of his kept telling him that they needed to find you, because this is the moment—"

"Moment? Moment for what?" Charles interrupts anxiously.

Caroline successfully drags Tony away, and he calls over his shoulder, "You know what!"

Mortification is the most fitting word for this moment. Tony Stark is playing matchmaker for two people that don't want to be matched together. He wonders how many other people know that Erik Lehnsherr wants to make him a proposal. 

Charles clears his throat. "Apparently, I am needed." 

"In what way?" Scott jokes. 

"Stop being inappropriate," Charles scolds. "I must be off. Better to get this over with now so we can leave as soon as possible." He glances nervously at Jean and says, "Watch her, please, Scott."

He eventually finds Erik moping about some of the classic Ford models. His sneer puts off any of the men from approaching him, but it doesn't prevent a group of giddy girls whispering to each other from seeing past his grimace and recognizing that underneath all that brooding is a handsome man. It certainly isn't going to deter Charles from doing what needs to be done. 

Every step toward Erik feels like a step toward a future doomed to be miserable and full of strife, but he takes it in stride.  _Think of Raven. Think of Emma. Think of poor Jean. Of Mother and Kurt. Of Cain. Of—_

"Mr. Lehnsherr." His greeting comes out a little more tersely than he intends, but in his defense, it's been a rather stressful day. "I see that many young ladies in attendance have taken a liking to Mr. Beliar's vehicle." Including the man who owns it, but he doesn't add this for numerous reasons.

Erik wears that familiar constipated look that seems to grace his face whenever he is left alone with Charles. "I see your sister among that group of young ladies." It almost sounds like an accusation, but Charles can't quite uncover from his words what he could be accusing Raven of.

And there it is again, that suspicion embedded in Erik's surface thoughts. Something about Charles and his family doesn't sit well with Erik, and his initial rudeness when they first met begins to make a little more sense to him, yet he's no closer to discovering where this mistrust stems from. He's almost tempted to test the limits of his telepathy, but restrains himself for the sake of Erik's privacy. 

Charles can't help but take some offense to the imagined slights Erik feels Charles's family has dealt him. Raven holds no ill will against Azazel or his nefarious sister. Even Charles doesn't wish any harm to come to Erik, but he certainly won't go out of his way to make Erik think otherwise, because he doesn't owe Erik, Azazel, or Magda anything.

"She's a good girl, is she not?" Charles defends her motives honorably without causing injury to Erik's character. "My company is highly appreciated, but Mr. and Ms. Beliar have ensured my sister doesn't grow too smothered by my presence."

With one of his infuriatingly unreadable expressions, Erik says, "Your presence can't be more unbearable than anyone else's."

Charles may have suffered a stroke, because it sounded like Erik had, once again, paid him some sort of cryptic compliment—one that suggested he  _liked_ Charles's company!

It's one thing to get married, and it's another to get married to someone you like. Charles is almost sure that Erik is considering making him a proposal, was at one point completely sure Erik detested his every being, and now doesn't know if they're playing the same game anymore. The only thing he's sure of is that his low opinion of Erik has not changed, and he does not see it changing any time soon.

"Has my comment made you uncomfortable, Mr. Xavier?" 

"Not at all," Charles smoothly replies. There's a pause between them, as if Erik expects him to continue, but his baffling behavior leaves Charles at a loss for words.

"How do you find the countryside?" Erik blurts, his voice stilted and awkward. "After dwelling in the city for so long?" The aggrieved man seems to also be sturggling for words, his agitation detectable only by the way his hand plays with whatever is in his pocket. 

Charles actually smiles when he says, "You forget most of my life was spent roaming through nature rather than dirty streets."

"Quite right," is Erik's stiff response.  

Charles almost wishes he could read Erik's mind, because he has absolutely no clue what is going on in this man's enigma of a brain. If he weren't the wiser, Charles would assume Erik is trying to make small talk, but that would require socialization, something Erik has proven that he has no interest in and isn't very good at. 

"How are you finding Taunton?" Charles asks. "You're certainly not in Kansas anymore." Lord, help him. He can't believe he just quoted _The Wizard of Oz_ to Erik Lehnsherr. What the bloody hell is wrong with him? Why is he nervous? Up until now, he was winning conversationally. 

Erik doesn't seem to find Charles's behavior odd, but he certainly still looks miserable with that jaw of his clenched so tightly that Charles is afraid he's going to break a tooth. 

"It's so pleasant this time of year." For fuck's sake, his voice just cracked. And he's trying to get Erik to discuss  _weather._ Nearly a second ago, Erik was the blithering idiot, and now the tables have turned. 

It feels like brunch all over again. Something about Erik's demeanor just gets to Charles, invading the part of his brain that tells him what to say and do and jumbling the wires so that its function is cut off from the rest of his body. Erik shouldn't be able to do this to him; he hates Erik. Without his looks and money, he wouldn't be anything to anyone. And after looks and money, there's nothing else there, nothing else to Erik Lehnsherr that bothers examination. 

Worst of all, Erik Lehnsherr looks maddeningly sure of himself despite the displeasure social functions bring him. 

"I heard Ms. Beliar's good friend just had her baby." Charles is really grasping for straws here. "My congratulations to her."

Erik raises an eyebrow. "Ms. Flynn doesn't know her child's father."

Charles has to work to rear in the anger he so wants to project as a result of Erik's judgmental attitude toward Ms. Flynn's situation. Is it an ideal one? Not for most. But it shouldn't serve as a reason for not liking her. He thinks of Alex and Scott, who barely knew their father, and even of himself when...

He quickly comes back to himself, something he's learned to do by focussing on his telepathy, reaching back into the recesses of his mind to pull peaceful memories. He can't go too far back, but he chooses one from about a year before he went to London, when he and Alex drove to St. Andrews and spent a weekend pub crawling. 

"Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles lulls the man in with a false tone of sweetness. "The unknown identity of the child's father won't make me retract my good wishes toward Ms. Flynn."

Evidently upset, Erik narrows his eyes and says, "That's not what I meant—" but is interrupted when someone comes up behind Charles and claps a hand on his shoulder.

"There you are."

 _Thank Christ_. Alex.

"Hank and I decided to drop by so that he could say hello to Mr. Lehnsherr."

Hank stands dutifully by Alex's side with his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants and confusion written all over his face. "What? But you said—"

"I also said that Mrs. Xavier would like a word with her son, and he must attend to her immediately," Alex smoothly swept in. "Mr. Lehnsherr," he greets as an afterthought. 

"Mr. Summers," Erik barely grits out, not at all pleased to be interrupted. "Mr. Xavier—"

Alex takes Charles by the arm and drags him away before Erik can finish his sentence. When they're at a safe distance, Alex loosens his hold on Charles. "You owe me for taking up the time I could be with Hank."

"I saved that lovely man from your wretched company."

"Yes, I'm _so_ imposing. And I think it was I who saved you from the wretched company of Mr. Lehnsherr."

"Wretched, indeed," Charles repeats. He fails to mention the moments he found Erik's words intriguing, or the times that Erik made attempts to be cordial. He doesn't know why he does this, but he thinks, perhaps, that focusing on Erik's faults is easier than breaking through the walls he has put up. 

"I'm sorry, but my saving you comes with a price." Alex's frown tells Charles that he isn't going to like what he's about to hear. "Your mother actually needs you. I think she's going to introduce you to that mutant director who lives in London. You might like his views on mutant-human relations."

"Yes, but will I like _him_?" Charles counters. 

"Probably not, since he seems pretty tight with your mother. He must be loaded if she's willing to overlook who he keeps company with."

"It's as if she's forgotten that she's human, too." Charles detests the hypocrisy that's consumed his mother since she married Kurt. She has to know that people give her looks whenever she enters a room, still haven't accepted her as one of them after all these years, that the only reason she hasn't been publicly shamed and ridiculed is because of her children and late husband's family lineage. 

"Just find her, or she'll have both our heads. I'm going to make sure Scott and Jean haven't gotten into any trouble."

Charles does find his mother, and she's furious that he didn't come sooner, because the man she wanted to introduce him to caught the eye of an older woman intent on taking him home with her. The loss hits his mother harder than it hits him.

He can smell the alcohol on her breath when she's reprimanding his poor timing, and they're beginning to receive nasty looks. His attempts at shushing her outcries are ineffective, but he's put a little at ease when he sees Raven coming to his rescue, Azazel nowhere in sight to witness such a shameful spectacle. 

"Mother, have you eaten anything today?" Raven's more agitated that their mother is doing this to them _again_ rather than concerned over her drunken state. They've been through this enough times to have some sort of protocal in place."Come on, I'll grab you some calamari."

She's hissing something at Raven that Charles doesn't hear, because he's too busy feeling mortified by the stares he's receiving from everyone at the party, some looks of pity, others of disapproval. 

For seven years, Charles was invisible in a sea of people, was lucky to get ahead academically, and the few friends he managed to make in school, at work, and at his internship weren't people he hung out with outside of those roles. It's been a long time since he's drawn negative attention like this, but a few months ago he would've craved for some sort of acknowledgement from somebody, proof that he wasn't just some ghost haunting the city.

Today, the acknowledgement of his existence is not at all appreciated. Tired of waiting for Raven to wrangle in their mother's behavior, he grabs her purse and pulls out a pair of sunglasses that he hands to his mother. She struggles a little, but manages to get them onto her face and places a finger to her temple as she mutters, "My god, you both give me such migraines."

"Yeah, it's us," Raven mutters. "Let's get her out of here."

"Take her to the car," Charles tries to not snap out of frustration. "I'll let people know that she's been ill, so that her antics don't ruin our reputation."

"But Azazel—"

"I will make sure he knows that you've been indisposed. Just go.  _Now._ "

He watches them go until they're lost in a sea of people before he tries to find Azazel for her. He's barely walked a few feet before Charles practically runs into Azazel and Erik, both of whom look a little lost. "Mr. Xavier, I've just been with your sister," Azazel informs him with a smile. "She ran off to find Jean, but she's been gone for some time, and I wonder if she's feeling well."

"Yes, she's just left with my mother," Charles replies a little hastily. "They're both feeling under the weather, at the moment." He's doing his utter best to not look at Erik, ashamed of his mother's behavior and afraid that it may have made a worse impression.

"That's too bad," Azazel says. "Please, inform them that I wish them a speedy recovery. I suspect that Raven will be hearing from my sister soon and will need to be in good health for their next meeting."

"Of course." Charles finds it difficult to keep up his talkative facade while he worries about Mother and Raven making it to the car without attracting too much attention. "If you'll please excuse me, I must see to it that they leave safely."

Charles is forced to make eye contact with Erik when he says his goodbyes, and when they shake hands, he feels Erik's skepticism practically seeping from his mind. Something about the Xaviers does not sit well with Erik, and Charles has yet to see what kind of effect it will have on his future.

 

 

*

 

 

The night is quiet, one of those silences that can make one think they are the only person left on the planet. Not even a bird's call or a cricket's chirp can be detected in the pitch darkness. It's a lonely feeling, and it's keeping Charles wide awake—like he'd be able to fall asleep if he tried. The cogs in his brain are turning, trying to process his last interaction with Erik Lehnsherr.

He's ridiculing himself for letting Erik occupy his thoughts like this. He knows nothing about the man, except that his bank account is as massive as his head. The man is definitely smart, can articulate well when he wants, and successfully runs a company that he, according to Kurt, is very hands-on with. And, apparently, he doesn't think Charles is unbearable—not that it matters in the slightest. The man's delivered a few back-handed compliments that leave Charles feeling confused instead of gratified. 

Erik may also hate Charles. He's certain Erik hates Raven and Mother. Kurt possibly misrepresented the family when he first went to meet Erik in Taunton, but if that were the case Azazel wouldn't want anything to do with Raven. Perhaps, Erik had a previous run-in with someone in the family that's left him with a grudge, but that doesn't seem very likely either. It could be something as simple as Erik not trusting new people. Whatever the case, Erik's opinion of the Xaviers could be the reason why Charles receives a proposal or not.

Another reason Charles is laying awake in his day clothes is that he's enjoying the feeling of his mind clearing itself, like somebody pushing through fog to make a clear path. His telepathy can now allow him to feel everybody throughout the mansion, and he senses Raven in the television room. He wonders if she's having trouble sleeping, too, but it's more likely that she's scheming away like some Disney villain about how best to entice a proposal out of Azazel.

Sleep will continue to evade him, so he decides to join her in the hope that whatever she's watching will put him to sleep. He finds her in a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, wrapped in a blanket with a mug of hot tea.

"It's drafty," she says defensively.

"I know." It's not an agreement, so much as it's putting a stop to a stupid argument. "Some nights I sleep with an extra blanket."

"You mean _try_ to sleep."

Charles forgets that there's never avoiding an argument with Raven.

"Raven..."

"Alex and Scott got home late last weekend, and they told me your bedroom light was on at four in the morning." She's on the verge of a lecture; he can hear it in her accusing tone. "I thought you were taking sleeping pills."

He doesn't see any point in lying to her. "Haven't for about two years. They make me groggy." He also doesn't like medication that muddles with his mind, and the sleeping pills mixed with the suppressants was almost too much for him to handle. 

"I won't even bother asking if you've found a therapist."

"You just did."

He's shutting down. This isn't something he enjoys discussion with anyone, especially his younger sisters who have problems of their own to worry about. Moira is married to a statue, and the rest of his sisters have the same fate awaiting them.

He doesn't have time for therapy. Between school, work, and his internship Charles was barely sleeping as it was, and maybe he didn't like the idea of talking to a stranger about his home life. Or maybe he's gotten used to living in silence, keeping personal matters private. 

"I just came down for water," Charles lies. 

Raven sinks deeper into the couch and pulls the blanket tighter around her. "Will you dream of him tonight?"

Charles taps his finger against his thigh to make sure that he's still here, standing in the television room, feet planted to the ground, not fading into his own mind and reliving some of the worst moments of his life. "You mean Cain?"  _Hands on him, all over him, bruising, slapping, clawing..._

"Among others."

Ah, yes. Who could forget the others?

She's staring at him like she's the telepath, and for a moment he thinks that she actually understands, can see the images that haunt him every night, the dark form that smothers him and the important parts of him that make him Charles and whole being stripped away like clothes off of someone's back. She wants to help him so badly, thinks she can give him the answers he needs to finally start moving on emotionally rather than physically placing himself as far from home as he can.

But she couldn't possibly. Raven was twelve when he left, could barely process what had happened to Charles and most likely didn't understand some of the abuse Kurt directed at her. There was no need to make Raven go back and relive what he has to every night. If she wants help for her own problems, Charles would do anything and everything he can to make that happen. But, as of now, she seems more concerned with his life, and that's something Charles can't allow her to become invested in.

"Goodnight, Raven," he says with a finality.

He reads  _The Once and Future King_ for what's probably the hundredth time until the first beams of morning light peak through his blinds.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I didn't abandon this.
> 
> I would like to apologize for my long absence. I recently told somebody in the comments that I was dealing with some time consuming, but not serious issues that happened to take my time away.
> 
> I can't say when the next update will come, but I hope the wait isn't as long as the one for this chapter was.
> 
> Just so you know, I slightly altered the tags (again), nothing like warnings, but maybe a detail that might make you think "meh, maybe I don't wanna keep reading."
> 
> Also, I don't think I'll be using my tumblr anymore (it was just to try out, but I don't think it's for me).
> 
> I hope you all enjoy :)

_Yeah, Lorry, was a witch_

_A sneaky little bitch_

_So fuck that little mouse_

_'Cause I'm an albatraoz_

**"I'm an Albatraoz" by AronChupa**

 

Charles does what most people do after a tense confrontation: pretend like nothing happened and everything is completely fine—or as fine as his life could be.

It’s not until four days after the night Raven raised concern for his health that the strain between him and his sister dissipates. They’re enjoying a cheese spread on the back patio with Emma and Mother when Jean comes running out of the mansion, waving an envelope in her hand.

“It’s arrived for Raven from Taunton!” she exclaims excitedly. Jean tosses the letter on the table in front of Raven and plops herself on Charles’ lap.

“Hey!”

“Oh, you don’t really mind,” she says like she knows that years of separation have left him craving close contact from his sisters. Charles settles an arm around her midsection and pulls her a little closer so she doesn’t fall off. “Who sends letters anymore?”

“How medieval,” Charles agrees. "Maybe it makes the sender feel important."

“Stop dawdling and open it.” There’s an edge to their mother’s voice, and she’s eyeing the envelope as if she knows what lies inside the folds.

Charles holds Jean a little tighter as he stares down Raven’s hands hurrying to break open the seal. She barely looks at the letter before announcing, “It’s from Magda.” Everyone around her stills and waits in anticipation. After a few more seconds, “She wants me to come to a luncheon this weekend with her cousin and close friend…”

Mother’s eyes are trained on the letter, possibly in an attempt to see through the page and read the words before anyone else gets a chance to know what they say.

“Her brother will be in Manchester,” Raven finishes with disappointment.

“Let me see that,” Mother snaps, finally breaking her poised exterior and ripping the letter out of Raven’s grasp.

“Mother, it’s no use. He won’t be back until late that evening.”

Mother shushes her, and an expression of intense scheming forms on her face, one that usually means nothing good will come of the plan she is formulating. It’s a look Charles has seen plenty of times, one that has had a domino effect on his tumultuous life.

“Whatever you are thinking, you better not.” Charles knows his warning is futile, and his thought is confirmed when his mother completely ignores him.

“Moira needs all the rest she can get now that she’s expecting again,” Mother explains, “so you need to go to her and help her take care of the children. She can’t be around them in her condition when they’re so sick.”

Raven grabs the letter back from their mother and shoves it back in the envelope. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Terribly high fevers, can’t even get out of bed,” Mother lists off like she’s reading a packing list. “You can’t expect Moira to take care of her children when she’s in the same condition.”

Charles digs his fingers a little too firmly into Jean’s side. “That’s what they have a father for.”

His mother carelessly stirs her drink and says, “Bill cannot take time off work. For Christ’s sake, he’s all the way in London right now.”

The man’s entire family is bedridden, and he can’t even detach himself from his whores to return home and make sure that they’re nursed back to health—his two small children and pregnant wife! The man is disgusting.

Charles nudges Jean off his lap and nods toward the back door, insisting that she leave so she won't have to hear what he fears might erupt from his mouth. She sticks her tongue out, but leaves like he wishes.

Emma is looking at him with a question in her eyes, while Raven is directing her frown at their mother, trying to decipher what she could possibly be scheming, and whatever it is she has concocted will only be to her benefit.

Charles takes a sip of his wine and says, “You might as well tell us what beast Raven will be facing in the arena. We’ll know eventually.”

His mother ignores him and stands up to make her exit. “You best be off within the hour,” she addresses Raven.

No amount of pleading with his sister could convince her to stay home.

“If Moira is sick and has no one to help her with the children, it really should be one of us,” Raven points out, and Charles can’t argue with that.

“At least let me go.”

“No, Charles.”

So he putters around the house for the next two days, worrying over Raven and wondering why she wasn’t responding to any of his messages and calls. Raven always has her phone with her, so there’s no reason why she shouldn’t be answering. He knows he’s being ridiculous, but after being home for a bit, he’s starting to get used to having Raven as his constant stress ball, and being without her for these few days has done nothing to calm his nerves.

The only person who seems chipper during Raven’s absence is their mother, who orders that flowers be placed in all the rooms in the mansion. Even Kurt’s presence can’t keep her mood down for long. Charles thinks that they must be the only family who doesn't benefit from a happy mother.

Jean enjoys prodding at his poor sensitivities with jibes meant to make him worry more than he knows he should. But he can’t seem to get, “Mother wants her to get ill and infect the evil Magda,” out of his head.

“Jean, that’s a horrid thing to say.” 

But she's right. It's so obviously clear that Mother is hoping that Raven will get so ill that she will have to stay the night, being in no condition to drive home. 

Teasing like this is why he’s storming down the hallway toward his mother’s parlor room, livid and consumed with disbelief that she would concoct something so ridiculous. Bursting through the doors doesn’t even make his shameless mother flinch.

“How dare you.”

She barely raises her head to look at him when she responds, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“You wouldn’t, would you, with your track record." The room reeks of liquor. "You’d give Ernest Hemingway a run for his money with what you’ve put away this morning alone.”

“Charles,” she says as if trying not to sigh, “why don’t you just say what needs to be said.”

“Fine,” he snaps. “What on earth has possessed you to send Raven to the Beliars’ in such a state? You’re hoping she’ll get so sick that she’ll have to stay long enough that Azazel returns, is that it?”

It’s clever, really, but he’d never tell her that for fear of it coming off as encouragement or praise. He’s also furious that she would let Raven get so sick, all in pursuit of Azazel. 

“You do realize that I’ll have to impose? Raven can’t stay at the Beliars’ without a chaperone.”

“Nonsense. She’ll be fine with Magda—”

“No,” he interrupts. “You’ve made a decision that’s placed her in quite the predicament, and now I have to step in.”

“Don’t you dare interfere with—”

“I’m merely standing in so that rumors impugning her honor do not reach anyone’s ears. I'd thought you'd be more concerned, seeing as this could put a damper on your loving plans to marry off your children to the highest bidders.”

Mother observes him, trying to find an ulterior motive behind his words. She seems to not discover one because she assents. “Fine. Don’t be a nuisance, and be your usual sociable self.”

He’s so infuriated when he leaves her that he doesn’t even notice Emma following him down the hallway, not until he feels her reach inside his mind with her telepathy.

It’s quite an unpleasant feeling when the telepath hasn’t been invited and the entry not at all anticipated. Before this moment, he had an idea from his studies what this was like, but now could say he has finally experienced an external force bypassing his weak barriers and moving around inside his head.

Being invaded like this is so shocking that he doesn’t have time to appreciate Emma’s developed telepathic skills. “What are you doing?” he snaps.

“If I asked you what was going on, then you wouldn’t tell me,” is her poor excuse.

“You can’t just read people’s minds without their permission. Not only is that morally reprehensible, it’s entirely illegal and could get you into a lot of trouble.”

She doesn’t even flinch.

“And where did you learn to do that? If this was your first time you could have caused permanent brain damage or even killed me!”

“I know this, Charles, so obviously I wasn’t trying to kill you.” Her dodging the question makes Charles more suspicious. “You know, I am capable of learning how to control my powers without an instructor? You’re not the only talented one in the family. All that time among the humans seems to be turning you into one, because not once have you asked about how Jean and I are progressing.”

She doesn’t sound accusatory, just merely stating a fact, but her tone doesn’t lessen his guilt. By suppressing his own powers, he was denying those of his sisters. Not only is it selfish, but a great opportunity was laid before him to study Emma and Jean’s powers, compare and contrast them to his own, a research opportunity he's completely missed out on.

“You’re right,” he admits. “I haven’t paid much attention to any of your powers. I’m sorry, my dear, but I’m so used to living without them that it was as if—”

“We don’t have them either.”

The silence rests heavily on his shoulders as he thinks about how much Raven would love this, him realizing that maybe conforming to laws made by humans has stripped him of his identity. Oh, yes, she’d love this. 

“You’ve progressed marvelously,” he commends her. “How about Jean?”

Emma shrugs. “She’s not mastered much, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t capable of more.”

Charles finally smiles. “That’s absolutely correct. And imagine what more you could learn about genetics if you went to college.”

“Yes, Charles, I’ll just uproot my life here and take a chance at university with money I don’t have access to.” He immediately feels foolish, but Emma’s chuckle takes away some of his embarrassment. “I’m sure that if I ever wanted to attend college I could convince my husband to spare some expense.”

"Emma—”

“Jean and I are going into town for lunch. I suppose I can just ask mother what she’s planned. I’m sure she’ll tell me.” She winks. "Perks of being the favorite."

Charles lets her leave, their encounter leaving him with a splitting migraine he naps off for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

*

 

 

The phone call comes Friday evening from a servant at the Beliars’ manor. Charles is so irate that his mother’s plan actually worked that he’s sure to have frightened the poor servant tasked with delivering the call.

To make matters worse, calling Raven proves to be a failure when he’s continuously met with her voicemail, which nearly makes him scream out his frustration. He hates her, because she must know what this is doing to him, and therefore should know that she should keep her phone charged in case he needs to reach her.

“I think you’re being kind of dramatic.”

Charles continues to throw clothes in his suitcase as he says, “Oh, am I, Jean? Am I being kind of dramatic?”

He shouldn’t let a fifteen year old get under his skin this much, but his sister is stuck at the Beliars’ with only Magda for comfort and no guarantee that Azazel will return soon enough to see her. Raven is above such adequate hospitality.

Jean smirks. “Well, you’re packing a bag.”

Charles looks down at the open suitcase and grimaces. Yes, he’s packing a bag, because he has no intention of paying a quick visit and then leaving Raven to fend for herself.

“Don’t you think showing up with an overnight bag might be a little…?”

“Aggressive, yes. But, really, what do they expect, calling us up to tell us that Raven has fallen ill? No, I’ve made up my mind. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but be sure to relay my congratulations to our conniving mother when Azazel proposes at her deathbed.”

“Just hurry back,” Jean says. “Raven’s sure to die if you don’t bring her home immediately.”

He really has to restrain himself from flipping her off.

And now that he’s standing on the Beliars’ doorstep the following morning, he does feel a bit ridiculous with a suitcase full of overnight supplies in his hand—ridiculous enough to the point of feeling like he’s going into battle. If needed, he’s also confident that he could successfully fulfill Jean’s expectation of him being intimidating, because he’s determined to see to it that Raven is well accommodated for.

If this is what the Beliars’ property in Taunton looks like, Charles can only imagine what their properties throughout the States and the rest of Europe amounted to. The manor is better kept than his family’s, and being in the country inland from the coast gives the Beliars more property to do with as they wish. Charles also notices that they can afford to retain all of their staff, as he sees a few gardeners landscaping and a butler answers the door.

“Erm, hello.” The butler’s stony stare unnerves him, and he hopes that his sister has been well cared for in her illness. “Yes, ah…”

“Mr. Xavier, I presume?”

“Me? Yes! That’s me.”

The butler steps aside before he can get out his poorly constructed response. Charles can’t even look him in the eye and quickly steps inside, hopefully leaving his awkwardness on the doorstep.

If the outside of the manor was pristine, then the inside is just marvelous. White was everywhere, and what little color Charles could see was soft and muted. The architecture was more modern than Xavier Manor’s structure, with marble flooring and glass tables. From what Charles can tell, many of the antique pieces are also in great shape, many of them glass figurines of angelic figures and delicate women.

After being lead down a long and wide expanse of hallway past many open rooms and closed doors for what feels like forever, they finally reach the back of the manor where Charles _finally_ begins to hear voices—mainly Magda’s mixed with one other unrecognizable voice belonging to a female.

Before he can enter the room, the butler gracefully brushes past him and steps inside with a brief clearing of his throat to introduce himself. “A Mr. Xavier for you, Master Beliar.”

So Azazel did return, most likely late last night or early this morning. For a second, Charles worries about Raven being here with Azazel, but remembers how unconcerned his mother was with Magda being there.

Charles makes his entrance, and Azazel's red form is immediately noticeable. “Mr. Beliar, Ms. Beliar,” he greets hastily. “How is my sister?” It’s pretty rude of him to skip pleasantries and completely ignore the woman sitting next to Magda, but all he wants is to check on Raven.

Azazel stands. “She’s fine,” he replies. “Please, let me take you to her.” Most likely sensing his energy, Azazel is quick to lead Charles out of the room. “I implore you to not worry about the care your sister has been in. Magda accommodated your sister, and I’ve only been here since eight this morning.”

“I—I would never accuse you of…”

“A good brother would at least be curious about a man’s intentions toward his sister. And from what I’ve heard about you from Raven, you’re not too bad.”

Charles relaxes his tight shoulders and chuckles. “That sounds like the sort of backhanded compliment she’d give.”

Azazel leads Charles into what looks like a ballroom and takes him up a spiral staircase, newer and cleaner than the one at Xavier Manor. Charles tries not to gawk and stare too much so as to not come off as rude.

“Just down this hall.” Azazel continues to lead him and keep up a conversation. “Hank has been attending to your sister. From what Magda told me this morning, Raven’s fever was quite high last night, and although it hasn’t broken, her body temperature is at a much safer level.”

“I promise not to be too much of a bother,” Charles insists. “I’ll stick to Raven’s room and not roam freely. And I apologize for, well…” He holds up the suitcase.

“Not at all a problem.”

They stop at a door at the end of the hall and Azazel knocks. “Raven? It’s Azazel. I’ve brought Charles.”

Charles can hear the rustling of blankets before the door is flung open by Raven, her hair disheveled and her eyes a bit glassy, but she’s still smiling widely and thrilled to see him. She flings her arms around him and traps him within her embrace.

“Clearly, you’re trying to kill me, whether it’s by death grip or infecting me with your deadly virus.” Charles presses a kiss into her hair and cups her cheek. “Honestly, how are you?”

As if just realizing that Charles isn’t alone, Raven’s face turns pink as she tries to avoid making eye contact with Azazel. “Thank you, Mr. Beliar,” she says hurriedly. “Excuse us.” She pulls Charles into her room and closes the door in Azazel’s face.

“Raven!”

“What?" She rewraps the thin robe she's wearing tighter around her body. "I’m not decent.”

Charles takes one whiff of the room and nearly gags. “Good lord.” He hurries toward the windows and pulls the blinds so he can open it, providing the dark room with some much needed sunlight and fresh air. “It’s like you’re hibernating in here. Or harboring a fugitive vampire. Also it reeks to high heaven."

“Quite the comedian.” Raven doesn’t hesitate to crawl back into bed and hide under her duvet. “I somewhat expected this.”

“Mother’s diabolical plan working or me coming to your rescue?”

“Both, I suppose.”

Charles takes a seat on her bed and begins to slowly rub her back. “What did you do yesterday?”

Raven snorts. “Between arriving a bloody mess and fainting in the middle of tea, mainly listen to Magda talk about her brother, her cousin—Betsy, she should still be here—and your Mr. Lehnsherr.”

Charles hates how much that name piques his interest. “He’s not mine.” He seems to be saying this to a lot of people. “For fuck’s sake, the man can’t even stand me. He’s always staring.”

“Sexy.”

“No, it’s intense.”

“Again, sexy.”

“It’s not sexy, Raven,” he snaps. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is the man who is to be my jailer for the rest of my life, and there is absolutely nothing sexy about losing my freedom to some rude, pompous, hate-filled mutant!”

“Well,” Raven says after a beat of silence, “I guess you’ll have to try and soften him up tomorrow.”

Charles swears he suffers a mini stroke. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Jesus, Charles, did you forget that he’s staying here, too? I think he’s at the other end of the hall."

Something about Erik’s bedroom being just down the hall from him makes him seize up in terror. Erik Lehnsherr, down the hall from him. Erik Lehnsherr, his maybe soon to be fiancé. This man is going to end him in so many ways.

“Hello!” Raven’s waving her hand in front of his face just because she knows it annoys him. “Who do you think was attending to me while you lounged about at home?”

“Yes, Hank McCoy,” Charles says, feeling utterly stupid that Azazel had told him this and it hadn’t clicked that Erik would’ve been here as well.

“Are you leaving?” Raven asks with a warning tone.

“What? No! Absolutely not. You are not staying here alone with Azazel Beliar and Erik Lehnsherr.” The last name rolls of his tongue with venom.

“You’ll have to be social tomorrow,” she reminds him.

“I should be telling you that, seeing as this was supposed to be your rendezvous.”

“No, you should be telling me to get all the rest I can while I’m out of Mother and Kurt’s reach. This is more relaxing than when they took us all to Hawaii. There was never a more miserable group of people at a luau.”

Charles sighs. “I suppose I could make an appearance, if only for an hour. But I do hate to leave you alone.”

“I’ve lasted this long. I’m sure another hour wouldn’t make much of a difference. And I know that you're not his biggest fan, but maybe you could make a little bit of progress with Erik, at least enough to get Mother off your back for a few days."

Charles wonders if his mother forgot about Erik staying with the Beliars, but it isn't likely, and her newfound indifference has Charles a little concerned.

“Hmm. I’m up for the challenge.”

“I don’t think you’ll have much luck with that if you don’t start doing some research.”

It’s silly of him to perk up at the word. “Research?”

“Yes, Charles, research. On the man you might marry. Why do you think I’ve been having such good luck with Azazel?”

“You’re intelligent, charismatic, and beautiful,” he answers easily.

Raven preens. “Well, yes, but other than that I’ve also done some research on his charity work, advocacy, business—Charles, he recently started a business!  Kurt left out so much about Azazel and told us so much that was incorrect, you'd think he got most of his information from rumors and people that don't even know the man." She's most likely right. "Maybe if you did the same with Erik he wouldn’t find you so insipid. What? It’s not my fault I’m smart enough to use Google and you're not.”

“It’s a breach of privacy,” Charles explains with a frown. “It’s somewhat similar to reading peoples’ minds, and I won’t research Erik like he’s part of a new species that's just been discovered.”

“Do you even know what his mutation is?” she begins to shout. “God, Charles, you’ve been living among humans for so long that you’ve forgotten that you come from a world of mutants!”

He hates that her point is valid. Up until now, he hasn’t thought about what Erik’s mutation could be. As far as he knows, it doesn’t appear to be anything physical, but it could easily be something that he can hide like Raven and Azazel’s mutations. Perhaps Erik was actually the devil incarnate, a fitting mutation.

“Never mind,” Raven says, glossing over the issue. “You’ll find out eventually. And I’m not telling you. Figure it out yourself.”

“I don’t care,” he says with poorly feigned disinterest.

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Well, whether you do or not, you better charm him into falling in love with you tomorrow.”

Charles rests his head on her shoulder and lets his body mold against hers. “We'll see, Darling.”

 

 

*

 

 

When Charles was younger, he’d often sneak into Raven’s room at night, where they’d tell each other stories under the covers with their giggling faces illuminated by a flashlight. They relive some of these memories that night in Taunton, when Raven whispers the gossip being shared among Magda’s friend circle.

Charles wakes up the next morning extremely sore, having his arm trapped under Raven’s body while his body is awkwardly positioned in a sitting pose against the headboard without much back support. He also smells like hot garbage, so he pulls his arm out from under Raven and makes his way to the bedroom’s bathroom and takes an overdue shower.

And because nobody in his family knows how to answer a phone, Charles spends the next ten minutes after his shower trying to contact his sisters to let them know that Raven is fine. The only person left to call is his mother, but it’s too early to have his day ruined, so he settles for texting Emma and hopes that she’ll pass the message on to the rest of the family.

Instead of waking Raven up to ask if she was well enough for breakfast, Charles decides to let her sleep and return to her room with breakfast. He doesn’t expect anybody else to be awake so early in the morning, but he’s greeted to the daunting sight of Magda and Betsy sitting in the parlor room looking at a tiered pastry display with probably no intent of eating any, an omen of what was to come for the next two or three days of his stay.

“Charles,” Magda greets him. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be up so early.”

“I’m just down here to fetch my sister some breakfast. I’m afraid she’s still not feeling very well.”

Magda manages to pull somewhat of a sympathetic face. “That’s too bad. I was hoping to show her around town, but I guess it can’t be helped.”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

He stands in front of the intimidating pair for a few awkward moments of silence before Magda grows bored of the lack of exchange going back and forth and says, “Breakfast should be served momentarily. Sit with us for a minute.”

He doesn’t really have a choice, so Charles sits in a white armchair diagonal from the sofa occupied by women who would give his mother a run for her money.

“We were thinking of taking Raven to Vivary Park if she felt better today, but seeing as that is no longer an option, maybe we could have her downstairs later for some poker.” Magda primly takes a sip of her tea, and then motions to the pot on the table. “Help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” a voice says from the entryway.

“Mr. Beliar.” Charles practically yelps his greeting in relief. He motions to the teapot. “Please, I insist.”

A force from behind Azazel nearly knocks him the rest of the way into the room, and Hank pokes his head around the corner of the entryway, beaming when his eyes find Charles.

“Mr. Xavier!”

“Charles.”

Hank chuckles and readjusts his glasses. “Right. Sorry! I can assure you, Charles, that I’ve kept constant watch over your sister’s wellbeing, and she has not been—"

“Dr. McCoy, really.” Magda’s voice drawls over his rapid and louder voice. “Mr. Xavier is well informed of his sister’s condition.”

Hank adjusts his glasses and mumbles, “Right.”

Charles is a little taken aback by Magda’s interaction with Hank, being outright rude to Erik’s doctor in front of company. Feeling bad for the poor man, Charles rises from his seat and moves to the other French sofa, where he gestures for Hank to join him.

Hank smiles in relief and gladly takes the seat next to Charles with his back turned to the women who have started conversing separately with Azazel.

“I must say,” Hank begins, “it’s not just Raven I’m working to keep in good health. Mr. Lehnsherr—” and Charles has to try to refrain from looking physically repulsed at the mention of his name— “went on a run this morning against my wishes. The rain will only worsen his condition.”

His mother always told Charles that it was rude to pry, but even he's susceptible to breaking some rules now and then. “Is Mr. Lehnsherr ill?”

Hank chuckles and says, “If you mean is the man suicidal, then yes. Always going against my wishes, never taking the proper medication or putting on a jacket when he goes outside.”

Was Hank his mother?

Hank seems to read Charles’ mind when he continues with, “I know. But I’ve known Erik since I was ten, was there by his side when his mother and father passed away, and I guess the way I see it is that I’m all he has left.”

It’s strange to think of finding common ground with Erik. Like Alex, Hank seems to have been a childhood friend or companion who was either taken into the Lehnsherr household or spent much time with Erik’s family. Charles also realizes suddenly that there isn’t really anything he knows about Erik besides his age, occupation, and yearly income. But humanizing someone like Erik would be like finding out intimate and private details about a celebrity or evil dictator.

Erik could be kind and generous toward those who know him well, or he could be just as cold and uptight as he’s presented himself to everyone, but either way, Charles can’t concern himself with trying to figure Erik out when he should be focusing on protecting his family’s interests. Erik’s kindness toward Hank does not guarantee the same treatment for Charles.

Nothing about Hank’s words or actions have hinted at a dislike for Erik, so Charles decides to say with understanding, “It sounds as if trying to look after Mr. Lehnsherr is the equivalent of caring for four willful sisters.”

Hank gives a rather undignified snort before responding, “Try a football team.”

“Goodness.” Charles nearly jumps at Magda's intrusion. “It seems Mr. Lehnsherr has struck a chord inside the both of you.” Her wooden smile could crush souls.

“It seems that Mr. Lehnsherr is striking chords within everyone that crosses his path,” is Charles’ retort. He hopes he does well with keeping it lighthearted, even though he’s quite annoyed that Magda is trying to get a rise out of him.

He at least has Azazel convinced, since he emits a barking laugh. “My friend tends to have that effect on everyone. And speaking of my friend…” Azazel points at the large window behind Charles, and everyone turns their attention outside where Erik is jogging toward the back door in gray sweats and a matching hoodie.

Charles can’t even begin to imagine the best way to mentally prepare himself for a day spent in the company of Erik Lehnsherr, so he plans to make his escape with the excuse of bringing Raven her breakfast, but it would be rude to do so before bidding Erik a good morning, even if it has been soured by the end of his run.

All of his talk earlier about being up for a challenge has suddenly gone out the window, and Charles is happy to admit a temporary defeat, but Erik  _and_ Magda would just be too much.

He hears the back door open, but Charles keeps his back turned still facing Hank. It’s no use, because the doctor is standing up to greet Erik. “Erik!” His face flushes slightly with embarrassment. “I mean…”

“Hank, we’re in the company of friends,” Azazel says. “There's really no need for pleasantries, especially between the two of you.”

Charles doesn’t hear a response or even a noise of agreement from Erik, but Hank is quick to recover himself, so it’s possible that Erik could have nodded in agreement or ignored the entire exchange.

Well, best to tear off that band-aid.

“Mr. Lehnsherr.” Charles finally rises next to Hank and deigns to face the stoic Lehnsherr. “A pleasure to be in your company once again.”

Erik observes him for a few moments, eyeing him up from down with a most intense examination that grounds Charles to the spot, yet manages to make him feel like a fawn trying to stand on its legs for the first time all at once.

Charles gets half a nod in response.

It’s rather rude, but Erik doesn’t look particularly perturbed by his presence. Just like at brunch, Charles wishes that his morals would relax their clutch on his conscience so he could peek inside Erik’s mind and know what this man must think of him. It surely can’t be as one dimensional as "barely tolerable."

“If you would all excuse me,” Charles says so as to not extend the silence any longer, “I must attend to my sister.”

“Is it alright if I come with you?” Hank asks. “She needs to be checked on. If it’s alright with you.”

Charles allows Hank to follow him to Raven’s room and only remembers that he was supposed to grab her breakfast when they're outside her door. He's relieved when Hank announces that her fever is gone. However, he insists that she still rest for fear of becoming worse and suggests that she get some fresh air.

“The view from my balcony isn’t too shabby,” she says. “I have some reading that I’ve been putting off since Charles came back to Watchet.”

Charles suspects that readings means those preposterous Brotherhood manifestos, but it’s neither the place nor the time to bring this up, something Raven is caught up on because her smirk is an indication of her winning an argument that never had a chance of being started.

So he has no choice but to follow Hank back downstairs and take up privacy in one of the restrooms to call his mother and tell her that Raven is well enough to come home and to expect their return by tomorrow.

Just as he's about to turn the corner and join everyone in the parlor, he hears his name brought up and stills.

"—see his clothing? What man his age wears sweater vests? How archaic."

It's Magda, shamelessly speaking of him while hosting him and his sick sister. A laugh from Betsy, and then silence. It's insulting and inappropriate, but he refuses to feel ashamed about something that makes him comfortable and doesn't harm others. That's when he decides to make an appearance.

Everyone is already seated and engaged in conversation, and Erik is freshly showered and dressed in a black turtleneck—a _tight_ black turtleneck—and slacks, and Charles swears the man is looking more closely at his clothes. The white curtains are drawn open, allowing sunlight to hit the room and paint its features with enough light for Charles to have carefully choose where he would sit.

Charles is impressed with the easy smile Azazel gives him, having just listened to his sister's opinion on how he dresses. “Mr. Xavier! I’m glad you’re here, because we have found ourselves in need of settling an argument.”

Magda is seated on a white velvet stools with a violin perched on her knee, tuning her instrument and giving no indication that she was listening to their conversation. Hank and Betsy are seated on one of the sofas, and Azazel and Erik are standing behind the sofa occupied by Betsy and Hank, all facing toward Magda who was probably impatient to start playing for her audience.

“How might I oblige you?”

“What's the most amiable quality in a marriage prospect?” Azazel asks this with the ease one would ask a friend if they wanted to meet for coffee.

The conversation’s topic puts Charles on the spot given the current situation of his family, and all eyes are on him as they wait for an answer that Charles really doesn’t wish to give. Since being presented, everyone has started seeing him as Bachelor Number 3, and Charles Xavier ceased to be.

He’s sure that if he wanted to, he would have the ability to read everyone’s minds one at a time, but with great restraint holds himself back from making a big mistake.

“Well, Mr. Beliar, I would suppose affection would have a lot to do with it. Yes, a fine marriage prospect would not hold back on expressing how much they care for and love their spouse. They would also have to be understanding, honest, empathetic…” He trails off upon seeing the exchange of looks between Magda and Betsy.

“Forgive my brother, Mr. Xavier, for he seems to have not explained himself rather well.” Magda has since set aside her violin in favor of the debate. “A good temperament is well appreciated, but what of other qualities?”

“Such as?” Charles doesn’t hold his breath for a carefully contemplated response.

Magda primly takes a hold of her sundress as she stands and faces Charles ready for battle. “You’ve left out quite a few significant factors, Mr. Xavier. Wealth, for instance. Occupation, intelligence, talent.”

Charles is baffled. “Talent? Heavens, it sounds like the only people qualified are footballers.”

Magda’s lifts her pretty mouth into a tiny smirk that might look innocent to some, but Charles knows better. “Not at all. For example, a woman of good standing with all the grace and elegance of a great lady should be well-read and proficient in multiple languages, singing, dancing, music, drawing, writing, gardening, baking, and not at all least, be able to maintain an orderly home with well-behaved children for her husband. Isn’t that right, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Magda's words are searing, each accomplishment listed like a stab to his body, for surely she must know that his sisters and he do not have much instruction from being brought up in such an unorthodox environment. He can’t bear the thought of being watched under Erik’s critical gaze and swears he won’t pay him any mind.

Trying to play indifferent, Charles chuckles and says, “Goodness, I wonder at you knowing any women worthy of a ring.” He feels his chest swell with pride when his statement earns a loud laugh from Azazel.

“See, there, my friends? A ridiculous expectation, is it not? It’s all good that you are so gifted, Sister, but others simply do not have the inclination, time, or talent such as yourself.”

Magda’s air takes on a brief sense of humility having being spoken to like that by her brother, but she quickly recovers when she turns her gaze upon Charles again. “I know of such a woman. One day you might be fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Ms. Ruth Lehnsherr.” Charles tries not to react to the last name. “You will see Mr. Lehnsherr take his seat in that armchair and open his laptop, and it will look like he is hard at work, but he’s actually chatting with his beloved sister.”

Charles doesn’t remember a sister ever being mentioned and wonders at her absence. Such a close relation to Erik and his social circle could only mean that she too is unpleasant and proud.

“Oh, yes.” Magda’s glee at her knowledge of all things Erik and Charles’ ignorance can’t be clearer. “She excels in everything, but unfortunately this means that her studies keep her very occupied and prevent her from traveling much.”

“That is a shame,” Charles says, more so because the poor girl is most likely not learning much about the arts and sciences. Before he can process exactly what he’s about to do, Charles actually voices aloud like a fool, “You must miss your sister dearly, Mr. Lehnsherr,” because of course the man misses his bloody sister.

Magda looks at Erik with anticipation, ready to receive any form of attention he might bestow on her, even if it’s merely participating in a conversation that she is a part of.

As for Erik, his gaze is fixed on Charles with its familiar intensity that Charles can only assume comes from not just his dislike, but his distrust of Charles that he felt at their brunch.

And finally, the gray serious eyes are too much for Charles to bear, and he tentatively reaches out with his mind and barely has to touch the surface of Erik’s thoughts, because the man feels so passionately and powerfully. It’s different than Erik unintentionally projecting toward him. As Charles reaches out, feels Erik’s conscious gently coerce him inside, and he has to pull back in fear of delving so deep as to alert Erik to his mental presence.

So he shuts Erik out, but not before discovering that the distrust is still there and the dislike not as strong as the last time, though Charles doesn’t know what would have changed the man’s opinion.

When Charles comes back to himself, he notices everyone watching Erik for a reaction to this, but he’s so focused on Charles that he begins to wonder if Erik knew what just happened.

“Very dearly,” Erik finally says, and that’s all he has to offer on the subject.

Just like that, everyone goes about their business.

Magda and Betsy engage in hushed conversation on the sofa, while Erik sits at the desk on his laptop with Azazel animatedly talking in his ear. Charles takes comfort in Hank’s company and indulges him when he enquires after Alex.

“He’s well,” Charles supplies his friend, “and after this visit I can tell him that you are well, seeing as he’s asked after you too.”

Hank beams. “How thoughtful of him.”

Charles is content to remain like this for the entirety of the morning and through the afternoon if it meant ignoring Magda and Erik, but by lunch the group reconvenes over sandwiches, soup, and salad.

Erik looks perturbed at being pulled away from his laptop and barely touches his lunch, eating even less than Magda and Betsy. Charles is sure to eat a generous amount to show his gratitude for the adequate hospitality at no fault of Azazel or Hank.

“How is Mrs. Stryker?” Azazel asks. “I recall that she is expecting in August.”

“Yes,” Charles replies with fake enthusiasm. “We’re all thrilled.”

“She carries well. Already two healthy children, the next is sure to be just as well.” Magda sets her teacup on the table and smoothes down her dress with a readiness a lion has when it’s ready to strike down its kill. “She must be aiding your preparation and attending to your nerves, for your time is soon to come.”

It’s a tactless comment with the intent of startling him, but he’s not sure that the outcome is quite what she expected when everyone tenses up instead of asking him questions about whether he’s scared or excited for his own children. Even Betsy has the decency to look slightly humiliated for her friend’s tactlessness.

Everyone’s shame gives Charles the confidence to gather himself and respond decently. “If the time comes, I do hope to be prepared. Whether or not someone has a baby is a very serious decision, Ms. Beliar.”

“It is!” Hank’s awkward entrance into the conversation is most welcomed. “It’s a very expensive feat, and I’m sure there are some people who do not think they could care for a child, whether it be they’re selfish in nature and know it wouldn’t be right or they haven’t the finances.”

“Do you like children, Mr. Xavier?” Erik suddenly blurts.

Azazel looks at his friend in happy surprise, probably on the edge of congratulating him for not only speaking a full sentence, but also using compound words.

“I couldn’t answer such a general question,” Charles says, “but I greatly love my niece and nephew.”

“What’s the ideal number of children, Mr. Xavier?” Magda asks, and Erik actually looks perturbed at her interruption.

“As many as one can handle.”

“Using some help would ensure that you could handle more than others.”

“You mean a nanny?” Charles clarifies.

“Yes, but I think a governess would be even more appropriate.”

“There was a nanny for awhile," he says, fondly thinking of Alex and Scott's mother, "but she sadly passed away when my youngest sister was still quite young. She’s so dearly missed, so you see, we couldn’t replace her.” Hank’s looking at his lap with hands clasped tightly together. Alex must’ve told him. But Alex never speaks about his mother, and maybe Hank had a much greater impact on his best friend than Charles initially thought.

“There’s no shame in not spending money you don’t have.”

“Magda, I think I might like to hear a song,” Azazel says stiltedly but with a smile still plastered on his face.

Erik takes a very determined few steps toward Charles with his mouth beginning to open, but seems to think better of what he’s about to do and closes his mouth while maintaining a safe distance.

Charles doesn’t even hear what is sure to be melodious music that Magda is creating, because he’s still in the throes of feeling very terrible about himself. It shouldn’t matter what anybody in the room thinks of him, but Raven’s chances of receiving a proposal would be much greater if he were to have the approval of Magda and even Erik.

“My word, Mr. Lehnsherr, you type uncommonly fast.” Magda’s compliment nearly goes unnoticed. In the hopes of getting his attention she continues. “How odious business must be to keep you at your laptop all hours of the day. Do tell your sister I long to see her.”

“I’ve already told her once, therefore I don’t see a need to do so again.”

“I absolutely dote on her. Her recent landscape was charming. The hours of practice are starting to reflect in her work.”

“We all do, Magda,” Azazel says. “Her absence is heavily felt.”

“When she comes of age next year she’ll have more free time to travel," Erik says, "but she’s still a child who needs structure, and my leaving on business as often as I do does not help this.”

Erik speaks of his sister as if she were a ten year old, not a young lady with a developed mind and a will of her own, and it’s certainly not how Charles treats his younger sisters. If a woman were to marry this man, she would probably spend many of those years secluded in a parlor with his poor sister discussing embroidery techniques.

“She fares well in Berlin,” Magda says. "When will I be able to see her again?" she asks Erik.

"Whenever you next find yourself in Berlin, I suppose." Erik looks up from his computer with a furrowed brow and asks, "Have you ever been to Berlin, Mr. Xavier?"

"Once when I was very young," Charles answers. And out of curiosity he says, "Is being well traveled another condition to being offered a proposal, Mr. Lehnsherr?"

Erik barely takes half a second to think his answer over. "It certainly wouldn't hurt. Neither would being cultured or participating in a lively discussion with enlightened opinions."

And suddenly it's just him and Erik in the room as Charles finds himself closing off the presence of everybody's minds, and it seems like a natural response to something that Erik just brings out of him. 

"The list keeps growing longer, and your adding to it gives me cause for a laugh at its absurdity."

"Would you laugh at me?" Erik doesn't sound offended, but he's certainly a little on guard.

"Are you too proud, Mr. Lehnsherr?" Charles continues to prod at the fragile ego. "And would you consider it a fault or a virtue?"

The man actually seems to give this answer a little bit of thought before answering, "That I couldn't say." His eyes narrow, and Charles can feel the wall being put back up. "But I will say that I find it difficult to forgive. Once my good opinion is lost, it's lost forever." 

It's a warning, plain and simple, and Charles would probably to well to heed it.

"Oh, dear." His voice shakes a little. "I certainly can't laugh at you for that."

They hold each other in place with a shared gaze, both refusing to back down, maybe neither of them wanting to. Those calculating, passionate grey eyes wouldn't let Charles look away, whether he wanted to or not, and Erik could probably convince anyone to do anything with those eyes—

“Do you enjoy the country, Mr. Xavier?” Magda interrupts loudly and quite desperately.

And just like that, the spell is broken, and it takes Charles a few seconds to realize that at some point he had torn his gaze away from Erik's and is looking at Magda. 

Azazel, Hank, and Betsy are considering Erik as if they don't know whether he's going to run away or explode after carrying a short conversation, and Charles wonders if they've ever witness the man have words with anyone.

Charles finds himself taking a deep breath before saying, “Yes, but I find myself missing the city. Although the same can be said about the country when I’m in the city.”

Magda practically turns her nose up at him when she asks, “What can one do in the country without the thralls of city life at their doorstep?”

“I find walking to be quite relaxing. I often take my sisters down to the beach, and we spend hours admiring the view. The girls rather enjoy walking to town, but I don’t much care to be there for the hours they prefer.”

“How bold to be walking around without a chaperone.” Charles nearly jumps when the words come from Betsy rather than Magda. The girl looks at Magda rather gleefully, as if seeking praise for her verbal assault.

After the initial shock, Charles realizes his blunder and hurries to cover it up. “Well, it’s not dreadfully far, and we know nearly everyone. It’s not as if they’re always without me or Mother.”

Magda hums to herself, looking rather pleased at the result of the day’s activities. Charles doesn’t know if the renewed tension is because of his apparent indiscretions or Magda’s.

They talk quietly amongst themselves after that, Charles sticking close to Hank and wondering if he just ruined any of his sisters’ chances of finding husbands.

 

 

*

 

 

Charles decides to not tell Raven about his little slip-up yesterday, but all plans of being subtle fly out the window when she wakes up to their bags already packed and Charles in one of his more casual oversized tweed jackets.

“Was yesterday really that bad?”

“Yes,” he says with a force equal to that used when he throws her clothes on her bed. “Magda Beliar is a snake who lacks common decency and does not respect the name Xavier. She’s also acting under the incorrect assumption that Erik Lehnsherr intends to propose marriage to me and has been doing everything in her power to make me look the utter—what’s the word Father would use— _hillbilly_ fool in comparison to her politeness, grace, and charm.” He spits out the last three words and forcefully sits Raven up in her bed.

“Hey!”

"By the look of things, I think he and Magda would make a better match than we ever would. They have so much in common, from their fat bank accounts, right down to their terrible attitudes."

Raven purses her lips and makes what Charles deciphers as a noise of agreement.

“Let’s go, Raven, we’re leaving.”

She kicks him out of the room so she can dress, and he gives her two minutes before he comes back inside to fetch her. All the while he keeps his eyes trained down the hall to make sure that they aren't disturbed. 

Raven makes an exasperated noise and says, "For god's sake," when she nearly opens the door into his face. "Now I  _have_ to know what happened."

"Later," Charles mutters.

“So much for charming Lehnsherr,” he hears Raven mutter under her breath.

He takes her hand and drags her through the hallway and down the stairs with the consolation that every step is bringing him closer to leaving Madness Manor and being surrounded by people who act civilized and aren’t cockroaches—for the most part.

“Say a quick but polite goodbye to everyone and then we’ll be out of this godforsaken…”

Either he’s in the middle of having another one of his nightmares or his mother and sisters are actually at the foot of the staircase. Raven bumps into him when he abruptly stops, and even she has the sense to realize that this unexpected visit it uncalled for.

“Mother, what are you doing here?” she all but hisses.

Their mother unabashedly says, “The butler let us in,” as if that was explanation enough.

“Were you invited?” Charles unnecessarily clarifies for her.

Her lack of response is the answer he dreaded she would give him.

She either lost the faith she placed in him when he departed two ago, or her speech was another act that he fell for. He let the sliver of kindness she showed him get to his head and allowed her to manipulate him for her own needs. He’s angrier with himself than with her, because he should’ve known better.

How presumptuous of his mother to show up unannounced at anyone’s home, but it’s especially tactless of her to do this to the man considering Raven as a possible wife. If she’s trying to show Azazel that Raven is going to be a package deal with an uncouth mother and ridiculous sisters, then she would be succeeding. And to pull a stunt like this while Magda and Erik are present just makes the whole ordeal so much worse.

The butler clears his throat. “If you would all follow me.” He throws Mother a disapproving look before leading them to the same room Charles was entertained in yesterday.

Charles and Raven follow behind the group. He wishes that Mother left Jean behind, not seeing the need for her to be here, and he’s perturbed at Emma’s presence because there was no need for their mother to throw her in Azazel’s face when he’s clearly interested in Raven. He doesn’t particularly like the idea of her being pursued by Hank, who’s attached to Alex, and just the thought of her being engaged to Erik is going to bring about a migraine.

“Darling,” Charles whispers to Raven, “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I must warn you that we’re about to walk into—”

“A shit show, yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“Raven, listen to me,” he continues hurriedly as they get closer to their destination, “don’t let her speak too much, keep an eye on Emma—better yet, let me handle everything—”

“Charles—”

“A Mrs. Xavier, a Ms. Xavier, and a Ms. Xavier,” the butler announces.

Mother doesn’t even wait for him to finish his sentence before she’s sauntering in the room and taking a seat without being offered. Magda doesn’t even bother to conceal her amusement at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Mrs. Xavier, how wonderful of you to stop by,” Azazel greets with the utmost politeness despite the lack of Mother’s manners. “I hope that your daughter being here under duress without her mother didn't have you too worried.”

“Not at all, Mr. Beliar,” she responds. She’s fairly lucid, so she must be enjoying quite the buzz. “But when does a mother not worry? My dear, are you feeling better?”

Raven startles at being addressed in such a manner by their mother, but she’s quick to recover. “Yes.” She’s trying to hold in a laugh, and Charles steps on her foot for good measure. “Nothing a bit of rest couldn’t cure.”

“What a splendid home you have.” While the compliment is probably appreciated, her greedy eyes dart from the double doors, to the intricate detailing on the ceiling fresco. “Everyone should have the pleasure of seeing such a well-kept residence.”

"Thank you," Magda says curtly.

Mother completely ignores her, along with everyone else, and continues speaking only to Azazel. "I do think you should plan on prolonging your stay. There's so much to see in the country. I know the city has its charms, but there are just so many humans, and you would—"

" _Mother,_ " Charles practically gasps at her misguided audacity.

"I'm sure everyone has business they'll eventually need to attend to elsewhere," Raven supplies for the group. 

“If you stay, you should hold a party.” Jean’s shameless suggestion nearly has Charles drowning in embarrassment. “Oh, please do host a party—”

“Jean,” Charles snaps, nearly choking on her name. His eyes flick toward Erik, who was most definitely scowling at his dear Jean who, although young and brash, always means well. “Darling, that isn’t polite.” He puts a protective arm around her and meets Erik’s gaze so he can glower at the despicable man who takes pleasure in intimidating fifteen year olds.

“I’m sorry. I just got excited.” She doesn’t look the least bit sorry.

“It’s quite alright,” Mr. Beliar says with much amusement. “Just name the date and it is yours.”

“Mr. Beliar, you don’t have to—“

“Enough, Charles,” his mother berates him like one scolding a child. “Mr. Beliar has politely offered to host a party, and it would be rude of you to insist that he doesn’t.”

Oh, yes, he's the rude one. 

"Thank you," Jean says, and Charles nearly vomits at the false sweetness dripping from her voice. 

"Ms. Xavier," Magda says to Emma, "Raven spoke highly of you during her stay here. I was hoping that you would accompany her to Betsy's parents' house in Bridgwater for a ladies luncheon."

Raven and Charles share a suspicious look at Magda's sudden interest in Emma. 

"I would be happy to attend," Emma concedes. 

The rest of their stay is mercifully short after that exchange, and when it's time to leave, Betsy forces Hank to stay behind and listen to her recite from Shakespeare's  _Macbeth_. Charles gives him a sympathetic look as he's rushed out of the room by his mother, accompanied by his sisters, Azazel, Erik, and Magda. 

Magda proudly holds her head high as she escorts them down the front steps, pleased with how he and his family must seem to Erik and maybe Azazel.

"Thank you for your stimulating company," Charles says to her with a bit of snark. "It was most instructive."

"Of course," she responds with her pretty voice. "I look forward to seeing you in the future."

All Charles can muster is a half-hearted smile. 

"And rest assured, your sisters will be in the company of some very reputable women."

Rest assured is not at all a feeling Charles associates with Magda, but common courtesy requires him to not be rude to a lady like Magda, so he says, "I know they'll be in good hands."

"Charles!" Mother yells from the driver's seat of her car. "Do you not see Raven, ready to leave? Don't keep her waiting!"

Raven is in the car she arrived in and is slightly slouched in her seat, probably wishing very much that she could disappear, something Charles relates to at the moment. Azazel and Erik are next to the car, trying to finish their goodbyes to Raven without being interrupted by another outburst from Mother. 

"Goodbye, Mr. Beliar." Charles makes a hasty retreat, but he has two more obstacles to overcome before he's finally on his way home. "Thank you for looking after my sister's wellbeing."

"It was my pleasure to be of assistance," he says. He shares one last longing look with Raven before stepping away from the car so Charles could get in.

Now for the hard part.

"Goodbye, Mr. Lehnsherr." It's minimally polite without being too friendly.

Instead of responding like any normal person would, Erik grabs the door handle with a jerky movement and harshly pulls it open.

Well, then. Message received.

And if things couldn't be any more awkward, just as Charles is stepping into the car, Erik _assists him_ with a hand that Charles barely feels on his lower back. It's barely a touch, merely fingertips on his sweater-jacket, but this is _physical contact._

Erik has deemed him sanitary enough for physical contact.  

Oh, the great pains Erik takes to get people he finds disagreeable off his property. 

And just like that, it's over. Erik is walking up the drive, back to the house, leaving Charles to wonder what the hell he's done to earn such treatment. 

"Wow." Raven doesn't sound nearly as upset as Charles thinks she should. "I can't believe it."

"I rather thought you could."

"Charles, that's how an emotionally constipated person flirts."

Charles has to laugh at that, because if that was Erik flirting, he's terrified to encounter the man trying to ask someone on a date. "Raven, he can't even stand the sight of me. That was a man desperate to get me out of his sight."

"I disagree."

"Of course, you do. But on a more important note," Charles says, wishing to change the subject, "why is Magda asking Emma to join your outings? She hasn't shown a prior interest toward her until now."

"Hell if I know."

Charles sighs. "Well, there's nothing we can do. Let's just see how this plays out. And would you start the bloody car? I can't be here another second."

For the entire drive home, Charles feels the burning imprint of Erik's fingers on his spine. 


	5. Chapter 5

_Sometimes I doubt the path I chose_

_Sometimes my dreams feel all on hold_

_There's no doubt that this will make me strong_

_'Cause it's the hardest thing I've ever done_

**"Honeythief" by Halou**

 

Nobody told him how overwhelming the return of his powers was going to be. It's like becoming reacquainted with himself after being in a coma, ungainly with his muscle memory. He didn't realize how powerful he truly was until it was taken away from him, and now that it's back, he isn't sure how he's going to go back on his suppressants if he ever returns to university. Desperation can drive anyone to do make crazy decisions, and his family makes Charles desperate. 

At university, nobody cared to interact much with him. Everyone knew he was the telepath on suppressants, and the few other mutants attending university were either not in Charles' year or field of study, or they were hiding, too afraid to interact with the other mutants in case their interactions were seen as hostile. The world he left became foreign to Charles as he became accustomed to skirting around others who were either hiding like he was or strangers that weren't looking for a telepath as a friend.

His mother's financial difficulties have dragged him back into a world that damaged him, but it's also a world where he doesn't have to suppress his powers with medication. And his sisters were home, would be for the time being, and he's been away for so many years. 

The return of his powers spurs Charles into action, and he seeks out Emma two weeks after his stay in Taunton and insists that they train together. "How can we hope to fully understand our powers if we aren't able to experiment with them?" he explains. "Part of that is certainly research—reading and such—but what about practicing our control?"

"You mean suppression."

"No, I—"

"Do you think that controlling your powers will stop the nightmares?"

Emma always had a way of upsetting him that none of his other siblings had. Her complete honesty and unstable ability to sympathize makes her difficult to talk to. She doesn't possess Jean's innocence, Raven's empathy, or Moira's kindness, but he loves her all the same. She's more mature than Raven and Jean, and she's more confident than Moira, and despite her desire for a lifestyle their mother has gotten her accustomed to, Charles believes that she has a resilience they all share that will get her through anything. He still sees her as the little girl he let perform on the piano for him in exchange for enthusiastic applause and plenty of hugs and kisses, but those days are long past. 

"You're starting to project. Maybe you need to learn to control your powers for the sake of all our sleep schedules." Emma's not one to coddle, and she certainly wouldn't start making an exception to her behavior now. 

"Maybe I should stay at a hotel," he suggests coldly. 

"I don't think Mother would like that," Emma tuts. 

"Well, what if—good lord!—what if I've been projecting toward Jean? Emma she mustn't see—"

"You'd know if she saw." 

It's bad enough that Jean knows some of the specifics of the abuses his mother, Kurt, and Cain dealt him the last year he spent at home, but having her see what happened through his eyes would scar her so severely that Charles would never be able to forgive himself for losing control like that. 

He hopes that he hasn't been projecting toward Raven, because it would just revive their argument from almost a month ago that he was more than happy to forget. She's always willing to talk about everyone else's problems, but remains tight lipped when it comes to her own. She's been so adamant about him attending therapy, but he thinks that some therapy would benefit her with nobody here she's been willing to talk to.

"I'm sure a therapy session or two would do you some good," Emma says. 

Charles has been so out of practice that he didn't even notice her reading his mind. "Is this going to be a habit?" 

She smirks. "Would that bother you?"

"No," he responds after a few seconds of contemplation. "I've never communicated with another telepath before. Actually, why don't you try—"

"Emma, you've got a letter!" It's Jean, running down the hallway toward them. Her running around with their letters is becoming a habit Charles is not growing fond of, seeing as there's only one person it could be from. 

"Do you pick up our mail to be helpful or is it all about the snooping?" Charles ignores the hypocrisy of his statement as he begins opening the letter when he recognizes Magda's handwriting on the envelope.

Emma doesn't even bother reprimanding him, most likely because the contents of the that letter are going to be known to the entire house momentarily, whether he or Emma is first to read it. Charles notices that like the first letter, this one does not have a return address. He also notices that although the letter addresses Raven and Emma, it's Emma's name that is on the envelope.

"Seriously, what's with the letters?" Jean asks. 

"Hmm. I suppose it's a power play," Charles says. "She knows where we live, but we'll never know where she's writing from, although I don't doubt that it's from Taunton. I think Raven only has a cell phone number and the Taunton address."

The letter is an invite to Betsy's parents house for the luncheon Magda mentioned as they were leaving Taunton, and Emma is quick to show Mother that her uninvited appearance at Taunton had been a smashing success. Charles remembers her not talking much, but she managed to leave an impression.

The next day, Mother is shoving Raven and Emma out the door with advise like, "Be polite," and "You could stand to wear more makeup, Raven." Charles watches them drive away and hopes that they don't make fools of themselves or become victims of Magda's bullying, but there’s a better chance of him winning the lottery than the luncheon to go smoothly without any complications.

He ends up being right. Sort of. Everyone returns in one piece with no scrapes or bruises, but Emma looks rather pleased with herself and Raven is rushing him upstairs and into her bedroom before she can even take off her shoes and get settled.

“You’re right; she’s up to something.” Raven’s pacing back and forth while Charles is perched on her bed, anxiously waiting for a full report on the afternoon’s exploits. “She was polite enough to me, but by the time we left, Emma was receiving her full attention.” Raven stops short in front of Charles and comes to a realization. “I truly think she’s planning to pawn off Emma on her brother.”

“That’s absurd,” Charles assures her. “He’s clearly in love with you.”

“Enamored, I’m sure. And I think a part of Magda knows this, and if that’s the case, she’s planning something else. I no longer think she approves of me.”

There’s no time better than now for Charles to bring up a concern he last raised when they enjoyed brunch with the Beliars and Erik: his sister’s misguided intentions toward Azazel, which seem to be getting more muddled with her unexpected feelings for the man. “Raven, do you love him?”

“No,” she answers easily enough, “but he’s a good man. That genetic research center should be running in a year or two, and Azazel told me that they’ll be working with the Children’s Hospital—”

“Raven,” Charles says gently, “it’s okay to want to be with him. If you both truly care for each other, there are ways—”

“You don’t have to lie to me like that,” she says. “You can’t—don’t talk to me like I’m Jean. I know better.” She crosses her arms and holds herself up straighter. “I have plans, and they don’t involve being tied down, even if it’s to someone like Azazel.”

Charles can feel an angry flush start to crawl up his neck. “You mean becoming a terrorist?”

“The Brotherhood is a group of freedom fighters,” she’s quick to defend, “and I’ll have you know that Azazel is very sympathetic to their cause.”

A sarcastic chuckle escapes his throat. “Well, I took your advice and used Google for some research, and to my great surprise discovered that Azazel was once a _very active_ member of the Brotherhood, along with the infamous Mr. Lehnsherr.” Raven too is now turning pink. “I’m so pleased that our mother’s limitations are nonexistent when it comes to marriage contenders.” It wasn’t Azazel or Erik he was researching, but the Brotherhood, which he decided to look into after he found Raven reading their pamphlets at the Beliars’ residence.

Raven may be mature for her age, but she’s still a nineteen-year-old sheltered girl who has never ventured outside home without supervision. Her grown-up façade has worked since she was a child. She’s manipulated him into letting her swim in the ocean farther out than she should, convinced him that helping her steal an extra cookie from the cookie jar was in both their best interests, and even had him lie to their mother when they were out past curfew. But nothing in all the world can convince Charles that Raven is ready to get married or leave home on her own, especially if she were to join an anarchist anti-human group intent on destruction and murder as a means of bringing peace.

“All I’m saying is you shouldn’t let pretty words and a handsome face cloud your judgment.”

“You’re one to talk, with your stubborn nature clouding your judgement of Mr. Lehnsherr!”

“Erik Lehnsherr hasn’t given any of us a reason to keep him in our good graces,” Charles huffs, incredulous that Raven could make such a comparison to her blindness of Azazel’s character.

“Don’t use your hatred for Erik as an excuse to dislike Azazel!”

“I don’t dislike Azazel!” Charles has now risen from his sitting position, and his voice is raised to Raven’s pitch. “I just want you to be careful! If you want to be with Azazel, then be with him, but do it for the right reasons!” He quickly inhales to bring himself back down to a state of calm and serenity so as not to let these men get between him and his sister. “My dear, Azazel lives among people that laugh at us and wish us ill will, and I would do anything to make sure that no harm comes to you.”

He often wonders if his sisters understand their unorthodox position within their social group. They're mutants who once had dowries sizable enough to brag about, but are now relying on the money of others to get buy, and whose parents are human and once thrived in London social circles among other humans. They're still young and not bad looking, promising marriage prospects for some who were not put off by their small dowries.

His approach works, as Raven seems to calm down as well. “All I’m saying is that Azazel is friends with Erik, so he must not be all bad.”

“Well, Alex is on my side,” is his weak defense.

“There are sides now?”

“Yes,” he states plainly. “Us and them. Although we disagree on where Erik Lehnsherr stands, it’s clear where Magda’s loyalties lie.”

If Charles knew beforehand that his mother’s scheming would include a bunch of terrorists, he would have been much more resistant to the idea. Of all people, his mother should know better than to get involved with anyone associated with the Brotherhood. She, having the great opportunity to live among mutants and humans, should know that unification harmony is the ideal societal goal.

Maybe Raven would benefit from going to one of the human-mutant relations talks he’s attended in London over the years. Maybe then she’d see that idealism is not just an impossible dream. What he really hopes is that she’ll be convinced that joining the Brotherhood won’t get her what she wants—whatever that may be. For now they remain at a stalemate. It’s better that they focus on Magda and keeping her influence away from Emma.

Just as Charles is leaving, Raven stops him and says, “I forgot to mention that Azazel and Erik stopped by the luncheon. He asked about you.”

“Mr. Beliar?” Charles already knows the answer.

“Erik," she says knowingly. "And he inquired after your health in that stiff way of his. You know, with his back all rigid and that surly frown.” And right before his eyes, she transforms into the very man she’s speaking of and mimics the expression she’s trying to explain. The piercing gray eyes, the auburn hair, and the sharp jaw—it’s really too much.

“Raven!” he yelps, quite shocked to be looking at Erik standing in her room. “Change back, now!”

She does so grudgingly. “You’ve got issues.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

 

*

 

 

Emma won’t train with him. He pesters her every day for the next two weeks, but she ignores his requests, and maybe it’s because she suspects he’s just trying to pry information out of her regarding Magda, but she insists that’s not true. “I’ll relinquish hold of any information you want, you need only ask,” she says. “And training requires challenging the limitations of our powers, and I do not believe we will suit each other in this way.”

Emma is a master of avoidance, in town when Charles is home, and home whenever Charles goes to town. If, by chance, they are in the same vicinity, she is sure to stick to their mother’s side, and Charles has not choice but to give up for the time being. Raven is no better, insisting that Charles could never understand her powers and that someone who promotes suppression shouldn’t be training young mutants.

He may have sulked in his room for some time.

At first, Jean is eager to learn from Charles, but after one session its clear that her attention span is elsewhere, mainly with Scott, who finds that he hasn’t much to do when Jean is otherwise entertained. They end up leaving Charles alone in the garage and play catch in the yard.

His sweet Jean is a bloody traitor.

Emma and Raven see Magda two more times, with Azazel being present at one of those outings. Each invitation is received by letter like the previous ones, and each time they return, Raven reports to Charles on Magda’s continued interest in Emma and growing indifference to Raven. Her intentions with this behavior remain unknown.

The third time Magda sends a letter, she only addresses Emma. Charles and Raven share a worried look as their Mother reads it over with a frown. “No,” is what she says as she folds it and places it back inside the envelope.

“What?” Emma’s clipped voice indicates a possible argument.

“No. If that girl wants your company, she shall have it if Raven is included. We need Mr. Beliar around your sister at every opportunity.”

“But, Mother—”

“And besides,” Mother continues, “we’ll be receiving a house guest tomorrow who will be staying with us for a few weeks, and I want all of you here to greet him.”

“Who is it?” Raven asks.

Instead of answering the question, their mother turns around and walks up the staircase to most likely avoid them in her bedroom.

“Mother!” Charles calls after her, unwilling to let her drop the subject at her convenience. “Who will be staying with us?”

“You’re giving me a headache, Charles. I’m going to bed.”

“It’s three in the afternoon!” he calls up to her, but it’s no use. “Unbelievable.”

“Not really,” Raven mutters.

Although his sleep isn’t disturbed by nightmares, Charles wakes up multiple times in the middle of the night, finding it difficult to return to sleep each time. He worries about Raven and if her plans for the future involve marrying Azazel or joining the Brotherhood. He also worries about Emma and what Magda wants with her. He even thinks about Erik and the man’s disdain for him.

Mother never mentioned when their mystery guest would be arriving, so by morning they’re all waiting gathered around the bay window keeping a look out for an approaching vehicle. Jean and Scott are still working on their bread and jam, but don’t want to feel left out, so they're shoveling breakfast down their throats while they push their way to the front.

Charles manages to squeeze himself to the front corner of the window with Raven pressed up against his back. “You were projecting last night,” she mutters so nobody else around them can hear.

“What do you mean?” he asks worriedly, trying to recall any aspect of a possible nightmare but coming up short.

“I could feel your anxiety all night.”

“Just so you know, you were a contributing factor.”

“Just so you know, you’re an asshole.”

They’re shushed just as a car turns the corner and comes up the drive. It’s the new Corvette, and the person driving cannot be made out from the tinted windows, but the car’s model speaks volumes about the income of whoever is behind the wheel. It has to be someone with money, and it’s most likely a suitor Mother is hoping to pawn off on one of them.

Charles takes a hold of Jean’s hand possessively and notices that Scott has done the same. They briefly make eye contact, and Scott quickly releases his hold and has the decency to look a little ashamed. Jean looks up at Scott in confusion, then turns to Charles with a glare. He would have to talk to Scott soon, because his eighteenth birthday is coming up. Mother and Kurt certainly won’t address the matter, seeing as they often forget that Scott and Alex live with them, but as a concerned family member, Charles wants his sister’s pursuer to recognize her young age and impressionable countenance. He should also know that if any harm comes to Jean as a result of his recklessness, Charles will have to kill him.

The Corvette is parked in front of the garage, and even closer to them the driver is still indiscernible. By now they’re pressed so tightly against the window that it starts to become fogged by their nervous breaths. Someone’s shoving people—Alex, most likely—and the mystery guest is taking forever to get out of the bloody car.

 _Finally_ , the door opens and out steps none other than Warren Worthington. And just like that, Charles’ mood goes from tired to cantankerous. He’s going to be trapped in his own home with his mother as his prison guard in the hopes that he will seduce a marriage proposal out of this man he barely knows.

Charles doesn’t need to look away from the window to know that all eyes are on him as they all remember Mother practically shoving Charles into Warren’s personal space at the Starks' party. If Mother expects him to sit on Warren’s lap and be regaled by stories of how good he is at polo and where he’s planning on sailing his yacht, then she’s sorely mistaken.

He breaks away from the group who call after him, but he keeps a quick pace as he exits the den and makes his way to the safe confinement of his bedroom. He hasn’t seen his mother this morning, so maybe she’ll be inclined to believe that he has not yet woken or has taken ill.

He picks a Faulkner novel from his bookshelf and flips to a random page to distract himself from Warren’s arrival, and he waits anxiously for someone to fetch him from his room. He tries to immerse himself in the novel, but he's barely registering what he's reading.

An hour passes. Then another. And another. It’s the late afternoon by the time Alex comes to his room with a pitying look that just doesn’t befit him. “Your mother requests that you join everyone for dinner, seeing as she’s given you hours to yourself.”

Ah. A compromise.

Charles closes his book and says, “Fine.”

He doesn’t take any time to look over his appearance, not in any sort of mood to put on a show after having Warren sprung on him like this without any warning. For tonight, he'll give himself a reprieve from this game, but tomorrow he'll have to resume playing.

Everyone is already seated when he joins them, and Kurt looks absolutely livid that Charles is just putting in an appearance this late into Warren's arrival.

Warren stands from his seat and determinedly approaches Charles. “Mr. Xavier,” he greets, holding out his hand. Charles has no choice but to take it.

“Mr. Worthington.” Charles pulls his hand away quicker than necessary.

Just as he’s about to take his seat, Warren takes it upon himself to _pull the chair out for him._ It’s utterly humiliating to be treated like a damsel in front of his entire family, but he’s forced to accept what’s happening and take his seat. As Warren pushes the chair in, he lets fingers brush against Charles’ back. Unlike when Erik did this, Charles is trapped and does not have the choice of pulling away. It’s uncomfortable, and he finds himself gripping his utensils like a child clings to their blanket for comfort.

He’s checked out for the first ten minutes of the meal. Mother and Kurt are transfixed on Warren, asking after his family and his plans after he leaves their company. His sisters, Alex, and Scott carry on separate mumbled discussions amongst themselves, which Charles can’t even be bothered to join in on. He does notice that Mother had his favorite chicken soup made, but it’s going to take much more than that to sway him.

“Charles.” It’s Mother, and she’s looking at him expectantly. “Tell Mr. Worthington about those science books you read." She then turns to Warren and explains, "It’s one of his hobbies.”

“It’s not a hobby, so much as a field of study,” Charles protests. “Hobbies are stamp collecting and scrapbooking.”

Warren looks completely unaffected by the tense exchange. “Do you like to read, Mr. Xavier?”

_No, I hate it._

Raven snorts into her soup. He must have unknowingly projected to her, but everyone else is waiting for his response.

Charles musters what he hopes is a pleasant smile. “Yes. I find reading outlets for other people’s imaginative expressions to be educational and invigorating.”

Warren looks at him with a considering expression. “I find reading to be an adequate pastime when bored with nothing else to do.”

It’s hard for Charles not to feel offended. “You think I spend my time unwisely.”

“Well, what other hobbies do you have?”

Charles doesn’t see a point in listing them all just to have them be shot down by Warren, but he has to answer. “I take walks on the beach and into town, I enjoy attending educational seminars, and I treat my sisters to the occasional shopping trip. Is that sufficient?”

His mother looks absolutely affronted at his behavior, and Charles wouldn’t be surprised if Kurt jumped the table to strangle him—it certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“Do you enjoy sports?”

“I’m not too athletically inclined,” Charles answers honestly, “but I can get invested in a football match.”

“What about polo or riding?”

“Charles goes riding every weekend,” his mother lies, “and he played polo often as a teenager, but hasn’t the time for it since.”

Charles recalls trying polo once and not having the aptitude or the fondness for the sport. His mother also seems to have missed the memo that building a relationship on a foundation of lies will not be healthy in the long run.

“Excellent,” Warren says. “Perhaps you would like to join me for a ride tomorrow morning?”

 _No_  is on the cusp of his lips, but once again, Mother takes it upon herself to respond for him. “Charles would be absolutely delighted.”

Dinner goes on much the same, with Warren talking with his mother and Kurt, the occasional question directed at Charles, only to be answered by his mother. Charles manages to get a sentence or two in if his mother’s answers were outrageous enough to deem his input worth the effort.

Charles offers to clear the table to avoid more awkward small talk with Warren, but his mother won’t hear of it and ushers them into the den. She tries to bid everyone else upstairs, but Charles clings tightly to Alex, who out of pity decides to stay, as well as Raven and Scott. Mother manages to bully Emma and Jean into retiring to their bedrooms.

They listen to Warren talk of his travels, which seem to be funded by his father’s expenses. When Charles inquires about how Warren makes money, his answer is that his uncle on his mother’s side has named him the successor of his beer brewing empire when he retires…in eight years. Not only would Charles be a housewife, but he would be a housewife to man who doesn’t have a job, and won’t have a job for _eight years._

His mother knew how to pick them.

“What do you do for work, Mr. Summers?” Warren asks Alex.

“I worked on the grounds for a few years, but for the last three years I’ve been waiting tables at The Dutchman.”

Alex nods solemnly like he just heard some disturbing news. “Good for you.”

“I applied to work there,” Raven cuts in, “but they wouldn’t hire me.”

“When our numbers are more secure, I’m sure that you women will get more opportunities to explore your options," Warren says. "However, humans overwhelm us by the numbers, and us men thank you for your sacrifices.”

Charles was insulted at dinner, and Warren's words are now making their way around the room, which leaves Scott as his last target. All the more entertaining—and horrifying—is that Warren seems completely oblivious to the insults he’s handing out like Halloween candy.

“How long are you planning to bestow us with your valued company?” Charles asks tightly.

“Your mother has graciously offered me a room here for up to four weeks while I survey the property.”

“ _I beg your pardon_?” Charles knows that this is how men are speaking of him and his sisters behind closed doors, but he’s had yet to hear it for himself, a verbal confirmation of his worth in the eyes of those selecting them for marriage.

Raven, Alex, and Scott look torn between wanting to assault Warren on his behalf and trying to hold Charles back from doing it himself.

Warren looks genuinely confused. “Did your parents not inform you? They’re thinking of selling the property.”

Property. Land property. Not people property. Mother and Kurt were thinking of selling. They were going to get rid of his father’s home, because they can’t manage their finances like adults are supposed to. Charles feels like he’s going to throw up. He’s unsure of everything, why he’s here, why Warren’s here, if Warren wanted to buy the property, or marry Charles, or both. Is there a point to Charles being complicit in all of this if it means losing one of the few things left that reminds him of his father?

And then he looks at Raven, and he thinks of what he could possibly be saving her from—at least temporarily—if he is offered a proposal before she is, and he thinks of the money that would come with the marriage that would save his family and let them keep their home. He’s the oldest son, therefore he needs to take one for the team.

“I apologize, Mr. Worthington,” he says with fake regret. “I’m afraid that we’re all a little shocked at hearing such news. We had no prior knowledge to this agreement between you and our mother. Therefore, I think it best if we bring our evening to a premature end.” He plasters on his most charming smile. “I hope you have a restful night.”

Charles ushers everybody out of the den and ensures that Warren is able to find his way to his bedroom. At the threshold, he endures a kiss to the back of his hand, and then robotically walks down the hall to his own bedroom.

He’s numb and unable to formulate coherent thoughts, and he certainly doesn’t trust himself to seek out his mother and hold a conversation without shouting profanities and throwing objects. Does he pity his mother for her destitute status with the responsibility of caring for an underage daughter and marrying off the rest, or does he resent her for the downward spiral caused by her husband's suicide?

A part of him feels that he should be overjoyed. If his mother could sell the property, then he would be free to return to London. He could find another job, enroll back in university, and get on with the life he started to build before it was brought to a halt. Holding onto property they can no longer afford just because it’s a reminder of a man that Jean barely got the chance to know is…something that Charles isn’t sure he can let go of, even if it means marrying a stranger. And selling the property may only be a temporary fix. This doesn't mean Charles is free yet.

Although it’s been about three weeks since he’s had a proper migraine, he feels another coming on after the stressful events of that evening. These are usually accompanied by nightmares, and he supposes that there’s no point in trying to get much sleep tonight.

He’s thinking about which book to read to pass the night away when he steps into his bedroom, but his plans are brought to a halt by Jean, who looks to have been waiting for him for awhile with his laptop open on her lap.

“You should ask before using anything of mine,” he says without much weight behind the words.

She takes the headphones out of her ears. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Never mind,” Charles says despondently.

Jean easily brushes off his melancholic mood with a shrug. “Kitty’s cousin sells his sleeping medication. I could probably get you some for free.”

“That won’t be necessary.” His head is pounding so hard that he doesn’t even posses the energy to explain to Jean why you don’t use other people’s prescribed medication. “You should get to bed. We’re all turning in for the night.”

“Do you need help?”

“With what?”

Without asking, she reaches out to him and rests her hand on his temple. He’s felt this transfer of energy before, when he’s had to soothe his sisters to sleep after witnessing Kurt slap their mother or get in screaming matches with Charles, and even on occasion when Kurt managed to successfully target one of them. The lull of her mind is tempting to lean into.

_Where did you learn that?_

Her eyes slightly widen. _You’ve never talked to me like this before._

_I have. You were just too little to remember._

“You don’t do it now,” Jean says out loud this time.

“I haven’t been allowed to for the past seven years.”

He’s truly done a brilliant job of forgetting the extent of his powers after having them monitored and contained. Meanwhile, his sisters have been progressing with their powers at their own rates, which is serving as a disconnect between them since he’s been back. They don’t even want to train with him. He may have to wait for them to come to him for help or advice on their own terms.

“Mom doesn’t want to sell,” Jean says as she continues to slowly help the pain ebb away.

Charles leans further into her touch. “Then why is she going through with this?”

“Kurt. Apparently he doesn’t have the same faith in us that she does. And I know she doesn’t want to sell, but she won’t do anything to stop him.”

“I’m afraid that’s how it goes, Love.”

They sit together in silence as she continues to sedate his migraine, and when she’s done, releases him and looks him over. “Better?”

It is. He knows that it isn’t gone, just contained in an inaccessible part of his mind where it will reside for an indeterminable amount of time; he guesses that it will return by tomorrow night.

Jean had already made it clear that he was not of any use to her as a father, but she lacks a male role model in her life. He’s definitely not of any use to her as a brother, seeing as he up and left her. She doesn’t even want him as a teacher, someone to train with and learn from. He's no longer sure of how he fits into her life, but he knows that he loves her dearly.

“I don’t want you to let any of this get to you,” he tells her. “Don’t worry about anything—”

“Because you’ll take care of it?”

“Because you’re fifteen, and it’s not your job to worry about it.”

“I have to worry about it, because it’s my home too.”

Charles doesn’t know what else to do except wrap an arm around her, pull her against him, and hold her tightly.

 

 

*

 

 

After a week of this nonsense, Charles is ready to throw Warren over a cliff. Whenever he’s not surveying the property with Kurt, he’s at Charles’ side, looking over his shoulder in the library at whatever he’s reading or following him into town on errands—all of which would be fine if Warren wasn’t a shit.

Charles thinks Warren needs a lesson on personal boundaries. The library used to be a sanctuary for Charles, a part of the mansion nobody occupies as much as he does. Warren popping out from behind bookcases not only gives Charles heart attacks, but it also drives him to the brink of insanity, which is why Charles takes up reading in his bedroom, the only place in the mansion he can limit Warren’s access. He’s also working on a way to best exit the mansion without being seen so that Warren can’t follow him into town. Walking no longer seems to be an option—because, seriously, is Warren watching from a window?—so Charles often has to drive into town, not the easiest place to find parking.

Worse than being followed around by Warren, is being a victim of his tedious conversation. Where Erik speaks too little, Warren speaks too much. Never has Charles met someone so self-deluded and entitled. He speaks with an air of pompous authority that doesn't match his graceless mannerisms. The man doesn’t know the meaning of work ethic, and Charles wonders if Warren ever paid for something with money he made, not money given to him by his father.

The incessant blabbing about his family’s income, the feeble attempts to build up his athletic ability and personality, and the audacity to discuss what he plans on doing with the Xavier property if he decides to buy it so repulses Charles that the thought of having Warren here for a few more weeks seems worse than spending another day under Magda’s hospitality. Over his dead body would Charles see his family's land be built over with corporate businesses that will overrun their little town.

“I don’t like him,” Emma says one afternoon. She, Charles, and Raven are sitting on the deck enjoying a lox plate as they watch Warren circle the property again.

Raven makes a noise of disgust as her eyes follow Warren's movements on the grass. “But what’s not to like about such a handsome, rich, young man?”

Emma turns her nose up. “He’s too eager to please. Did you see how he kept inquiring after Cain?”

Actually, Charles didn't see because the only thing worse than hanging out with Warren is hanging out with Warren  _and_ Kurt.

“He’s certainly going about it the wrong way,” Charles says. “I couldn't give a damn how many goals he’s scored in a season.”

The consensus among his siblings is that Warren is an arrogant prick. Only Alex and Scott are free from Warren’s abominable manners, mainly because Warren has no interest in getting to know them. His dear, sweet Jean is smart enough to stick closely to them. Jean finds solace with Alex and Scott, who are more than happy to take her for picnics on the cliffs and walks along the beach.

Charles tries to go with them on more than one occasion but is barred when Warren takes to following their group down to the beach and inviting himself to their picnics. Alex’s half-hearted apology to Charles is a shrug, and Jean doesn’t even care that her favorite brother is being bullied out of their gatherings. Charles ends up walking back up the path with Warren following closely behind chatting about some sort of pure bred dog his father paid way too much money for.

Worst of all, his mother is taking every opportunity to push them together by trapping them alone in rooms or sending them out to complete pointless tasks, the worst one being to drive to an animal shelter—the nearest one being an hour away—to pick up a kitten for Jean, who Mother is suddenly worried will grow lonely after her siblings are moved out and married. After their father died, Mother didn't allow pets in the home because she thought they were dirty, but she must be desperate if she's sending Charles out with Warren to bring home pets.

Charles never thought that he would ever resent a kitten.

On a particularly sunny day, his mother encourages her children to get some sun by the pool. This should’ve been Charles’ hint that the afternoon is not going to be the relaxing day he thinks it will be. The next hint should’ve been the cheese plate and lemonade on the table outside that Mother arranged for them. Mother doesn't step foot in the kitchen if she can help it.

Charles restrains Jean from jumping in without any sunscreen and forces her onto a lounge chair so he can apply some on her back. When he’s finished, she springs up and dives off the edge of the pool, barely making a splash.

Charles has barely relieved himself of his shirt when a most unwelcome voice from behind him asks if he needs help applying sunscreen to his back.

Charels, once again, thinks of Erik’s light hand on his lower back for a few seconds, much more pleasant in comparison to Warren’s cold hands trailing runny sunscreen over the plains of his shoulders. There's nothing he can do but wait for it to end. His peaceful afternoon of tanning is ruined by Warren's greedy eyes watching him over the brim of his designer sunglasses.

“It felt like a bunch of worms were crawling up my back.” Charles shivers at the memory, which he hopes will be muddled by the scotch he pours for himself. “He’s absolutely repulsive.”

“Let’s see,” Alex muses. “So far your choices for lifelong companion are the irritable Lehnsherr and ‘Wormy Fingered’ Warren.”

“Yes, thank you, Alex,” Charles nearly wheezes. “I truly cannot believe it.”

The scotch doesn’t help.

Warren doesn’t just prove himself capable of making disparaging marks about Charles. His sisters aren’t too keen on engaging in conversation with Warren, Raven in particular, and she makes her displeasure known one afternoon when she ignores Charles’ closed door and barges into his room.

“We can’t have this sexist staying at our home for another few weeks.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” Charles breathes heavily. “Never mind the fact that I was trying to take a nap.”

“You wouldn’t need them if you’d go to sleep at night.”

“One problem at a time,” Charles says, uneager to rehash old arguments. “I’m terribly sorry that Warren does not take your desire to work seriously.”

“He doesn’t take any of us seriously, Charles. Remember the second time he followed us into town? When you excused yourself and pretended to need the toilet, he took it upon himself to buy Jean a doll. Jean hasn’t owned a doll since she was six.”

Charles snorts. “He should’ve bought her an island getaway with one of her friends. That’s what every teenage girl wants.”

“I talked to Moira this morning, and apparently Bill has crossed paths with the Worthingtons.”

“Really?” Charles asks with surprise. “What on earth is anti-mutant Bill Stryker doing in the company of the Worthingtons?”

“I thought you’d ask that,” Raven says with a knowing grin. “Warren has a human grandfather who’s donated millions to Bill’s university for decades. They’ve got quite the name made for themselves in Winchester, and they don’t fare too terribly in London.”

“Mutant-human relations get pretty complicated with mixed families, don’t they?”

Raven purses her lips, but glosses over the potential argument. “I want him _out_ , Charles.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“I don’t know!” she calls over her shoulder as she stomps out of his bedroom, nearly knocking Alex over in the process.

He leans against the doorframe with a forlorn look on his face. “I take it now isn’t the best time?”

“The best time for what?” Charles nearly snaps.

Alex says nothing, instead holds out a folded piece of paper. Charles fears that it’s another invitation from Magda for Emma to attend some laborious party with her simpleton cousin, but upon unfolding the paper finds that its contents are typed, not handwritten, and Magda has never sent an email to Charles’ knowledge.

Charles recognizes Raven’s email address at the top and…

His heart stops when he sees that the sender is listed as _angelsalvadore@thebrotherhood.com_ , and his suspicions are proven correct. No longer is he a paranoid and protective older brother, because he is now holding proof that Raven has been sneaking behind his back, ignoring all of his warnings about getting involved with a radical political group.

Charles almost thrusts the letter back into Alex’s hands, but his curiosity gets the better of his anger. As far as he's concerned, Raven forfeited her right to privacy when she started communication with this Angel Salvadore.

 

_Mystique,_

_Your concern means much to the others and me. Everyone is in good health and sends their regards. Starting next week, I’ll be out of town and difficult to reach, so do not be alarmed if I do not immediately reply to your next message._

_Mutant and proud!_

_Angel_

 

Although it’s short, the contents are disturbing. Raven has clearly been in contact with this Angel person for awhile. He doesn’t think she’s been sneaking away to meetings, but she seems to be somewhat informed on some of their activity. Mystique: he's never heard the word, and doesn't know when Raven started going by it. Maybe everyone in the Brotherhood has a codename, and if Raven has been assigned one, then she must be seriously considering joining.

It’s all too much for Charles, who wonders if Raven would have better judgment if he had been around more. She’s ridiculous for thinking that this will fix all of her problems, get her what she wants, and bring peace to a centuries long feud between two warring social groups.

“Are you going to talk to her?” Alex asks.

Charles wants nothing more than to shake some sense into that silly girl, but the tension between them from a few weeks prior had just dissipated, and he’s not in a hurry to dredge up another argument likely to go nowhere. However, the situation is serious and will need to be addressed soon.

He hands the paper back to Alex, knowing that his silence on the matter means that he can’t let Raven know that he’s seen her communication with Angel. For a brief moment, he’s insane enough to make sure the email falls in the hands of Mother, or even Kurt, but his mother is likely to do nothing, and Charles isn’t confident that Kurt won’t become violent.

“Don’t let anyone else see this,” Charles instructs.

Alex nods. “You got it.”

 

 

*

 

 

He can’t believe it’s happening again, yet he really can believe it’s happening again. It’s the second week of Warren’s stay, and he has yet to take the hint that nobody wants him accompanying them on their trips to town; the sneaking around and not directly approaching him for anything did not give Warren the sense that they want nothing to do with him. 

Emma puts on her sunhat in a huff, fuming with so much anger that she refuses to make eye contact with anyone. Jean has her arms petulantly crossed and is glaring at Charles as if this is all his fault—technically it is—and he better do something to fix it. Too bad for Jean that he's in no mood to deal with her grievances, but she needs to clean that litter box so the laundry room doesn't smell anymore.

Charles and his sisters would rather walk to town than drive, mainly because nobody was that great at parallel parking, and it seems the family has conspired against him to do their absolute best to make sure that he never has to get behind the wheel of a car if they could help it.

“I don’t want to go anymore,” Jean mumbles.

“Too bad, you’re going,” Charles says maybe a little too harshly.

Charles tries to space out for a good portion of the walk, but its because of him that Warren is with them, so he has no choice but to tend to their guest’s need to speak with Charles about more of his self-perceived accomplishments. “I’m due to inherit even more once I marry,” Warren brags. “Father’s will guarantees at least a few thousand extra pounds. Even more once I have a child—more for sons than for daughters, so I hope to have many children, mostly sons.”

“Wonderful,” Charles responds dryly.

“I don’t want children,” Jean announces. Charles isn’t sure if she’s serious, or just trying to get under Warren’s skin.

“Then I hope whoever you marry doesn’t either, though I’m sure any respectable man would,” Warren says while checking for messages on his phone.

“If a husband wants children he should have a hand in raising them,” Emma says, nearly a foot in front of them and moving at a faster pace, clearly eager to get their outing over with. “None of that nanny nonsense. If there’s a nanny, it better be because we’re both at work.”

Charles is surprised by Emma’s statement. He knows that she’s more eager than any of them to marry, but he was never aware of her want to aspire to be something more than a wife; he's proud in that moment.

Warren splutters, unable to form a response to these differing opinions and probably at a loss for being so clearly outnumbered. Charles does nothing to offer help or agree with Warren, and they are able to continue their walk in silence.

Town is usually busy on Saturdays, which gives Charles a better chance of losing Warren in a crowd. But Warren is plastered to their backs, commenting on the dress of country people and the quaintness of such a small town. Charles is also sure that Warren is trying to reach for his hand or touch him in some way to lead him about, which is absurd because Charles hasn’t been encouraging his affection in any way, and there’s no way for Warren to lead him around a town he barely knows.

Town smells like a mixture of the ocean, dirt, perfume from Shell Smells, and spices from the spice shop, all of which mingle together to create a scent so uniquely nostalgic that Charles knows nothing will ever come close to replicating it. It would’ve been a perfect moment if it weren’t for the smell of Warren’s hair gel. Nothing like the stench of rich asshole.

The road leading into town begins as a dirt road before turning into gravel. Feet walking and trampling pick up dust, which Warren is feebly trying to avoid getting on his slacks, but not doing a very good job at it. If he can’t handle a little dust, Charles wonders what business Warren has buying property in the country. He would absolutely loathe the storms they get, and Charles is willing to bet that Warren's the kind of man that couldn't handle land work. Fortunately for him, he's rich enough to hire gardeners.

It’s not terribly hot, but the weather is warm enough to warrant Charles rolling up his sleeves and unbuttoning two more buttons on his shirt, immediately feeling self-conscious when he catches Warren watching his fingers splay his collar open.

“Charles, I need underwear,” Jean announces loudly, turning a few heads.

Charles looks at her strangely, a little miffed that she'd shout something like that in public. “Well, Darling, you know where to go. Just meet me in the market when you’re done—”

“I need money, and you have the money. Come with me.”

Charles frowns. “I don’t see why—”

“I need bras, too!” She’s yelling at this point, and Charles is about ready to rebuke her outlandish behavior before Emma sneakily tugs on his sleeve.

“We’ll go to Abbi’s and get whatever clothes you need,” she tells Jean. “You’re welcome to join us, of course, Mr. Worthington.”

Warren looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do, his face pink with mortification, like a little boy who still thinks that girls have cooties. “Right! Uh, very well. Do what you must. I’ll just be…” He wanders into the coffee shop they’re in front of, finally leaving them to their business.

“I don’t need underwear, but I really want a new bathing suit,” Jean says.

Charles laughs. “You clever girl! I’ll do you better and buy you two.” He wraps an arm around her small shoulders and leads them to Abbi’s.

Abbi’s is the most popular clothing store for girls in town and where Jean spends the majority of her pocket money; she’s also talked Charles into buying her clothes and accessories there almost every week he’s been back, proving herself a difficult person for him to say no to.

Thankfully, a large portion of the crowd in town is due to the market that sells fresh produce and seafood, so Abbi’s is not too crowded, leaving plenty of room for Charles and his sisters to move around without bumping into people. Jean immediately heads for a mannequin with a striped two-piece.

“What do you think?” she asks her siblings.

“Meh.”

Jean pouts. “You’re mean, Emma.”

“If you like it, then go try it on,” Charles suggests.

Jean bounces on the balls of her feet and begins her assault on the mannequin, but suddenly freezes in place, fixated on a point behind Charles’ shoulder. He thinks that Warren has decided to follow them into Abbi’s, so he might have been scowling when he turns around and comes face to face with Azazel and Erik, looking so magnificently out of place in a women's clothing store with his austere expression.

It’s unfair, really, how many times Erik Lehnsherr has managed to catch Charles off guard and with one look make him feel as insignificant as the dust on Warren’s slacks. He’s self conscious again, but it’s different than how he feels around Warren, like he wants to cover up and hide from the objectification. Erik makes him feel embarrassed to be himself, and the very parasite himself is looking at Charles’ dirty shoes as if he could just incinerate them on the spot.

The man’s unbearable, in his pleated lacks and ironed button-down. There’s not a hair out of place, and his eyes—they could be so lovely if they weren’t so cold—are as judging and surly as ever. Yes, Raven was _definitely_ spot on when she said that this iceman was hitting on him. If he ever spat on Charles, Raven would view it as a marriage proposal.

“Mr. Beliar!” Jean screeches in the middle of the store.

Azazel is polite enough to indulge her with a smile, while Erik noticeably flinches at Jean’s high pitched tone and then glares at the floor, probably willing it to open up and swallow him so he doesn’t have to see Charles and his ridiculous family. The last time they saw each other was in the company of Charles’ intrusive mother, so in Erik’s poor defense, he doesn’t have much of a reason to look forward to seeing more of the Xaviers, despite Charles' accommodation to Erik's abhorrent behavior.

Azazel waves them over. “Ms. Xavier! Wonderful to see you in town.”

Jean eagerly sidles up to him. “Charles is taking us shopping.”

“Us?” Azazel asks rather hopefully.

“Yes,” Charles says. “Emma’s in here somewhere cleaning them out of everything they’ve got.” He doesn’t miss the way Azazel’s smile slightly falters at hearing that it isn’t Raven who accompanied Charles and Jean. “What brings you from Taunton?”

“On his last visit to Taunton, Mr. Marko mentioned that we should do some exploring,” Azazel replies, but Charles suspects that he was hoping to see Raven on one of these visits, afraid that asking for Raven to meet him would be too forward and inappropriate.

Charles is tempted to ask Azazel what he had to bribe or threaten Erik with to drag him to Watchet, because the grimace on Erik’s face speaks of a tortured man, clearly not here for the same joys Azazel seeks. Charles suspects that Azazel was in need of a wingman, and Erik was the only man available for the task.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it? Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Lehnsherr?” Charles should know better than to get Erik riled up, but the man doesn’t even have the decency to look Charles in the face, and it makes him want to scream.

Erik finally deigns to grace Charles with eye contact—sanctimoniously appraising him for a moment as he does so—then says, “The weather is nice.”

Charles doesn’t even try to hold back the laugh that escapes his mouth. Erik’s eyes narrow even more than Charles thought was possible. “It is, my friend, but that was not the question.”

“Erik likes the harbor,” Azazel provides for his pitiful companion. “I think my friend is considering buying a boat, maybe take up the fisherman's life.”

“That would be impractical,” Erik says stiffly, “seeing as I do not plan on having much future business in Watchet.”

Yes, Charles really can’t wait to rub how wrong Raven was in her face after this awkward run-in.

“Ms. Xavier,” Azazel intercedes. There’s a glint in his eyes Charles does not like. “I see your sister over there. Why don’t we go see what she’s chosen?”

Jean looks at Charles for permission—and is he tempted not to give it—but she too is not fond of Erik, so Charles decides to put her out of her misery and allow her to scurry off with Azazel. “Come back here when you’ve finished,” he tells her.

She unceremoniously takes Azazel’s hand and drags him over to Emma. Charles knows it’s innocent, but she’s getting a little too old to be getting away with these antics. A group of middle-aged women near a stack of sweaters are watching her with concern, one of them shaking her head; he makes sure to keep her in his line of sight.

“If you’re nervous, then don’t let her go off unsupervised.” Erik’s damn eyes and his unkind way with his words and actions are starting to wear down Charles’ gentlemanly façade.

He’s put up with so much since he and Erik met at the Stark’s party. Failing to politely greet him upon first meeting Charles, ignoring him after being left in his company, and then slighting him in front of Azazel had not been enough to sate Erik’s desire to ridicule Charles. No, he had to make him feel inferior because of how he chooses to spend his time and whom he chooses to surround himself with. He also had to look down on others, jab at people with little insults, push everyone away with his aloof mannerisms, and the suspicion—he practically reeks of it! Charles can feel it when he gently reaches out, and he remembers when Erik felt this so strongly that he unknowingly projected at Charles.

Whether Erik intends to propose marriage or not, he so obviously dislikes Charles that he feels pathetic for even continuing to try to please Erik and get in his good graces, especially after the man has shown such disdain for his family and friends. Charles has been made into a fool, and he’s no longer going to stand for it.

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Lehnsherr. Jean standing twenty feet away from me does not count as her being unsupervised.”

Charles can actually see the moment when the intent to murder appeared on Erik’s face. And all it took was a playground insult. Charles would pay big money to see what Erik would do if someone actually insulted his character.

“I am just looking after the wellbeing of your sister,” Erik says in a strained voice and, _oh, yes,_ he’s definitely gritting his teeth.

“Well, that is my job, an I do it very well, but thank you so much for your concern,” Charles says with as much sarcasm as he can without overdoing it. “Perhaps you should direct that concern toward your own sister.”

Erik takes a step toward him—quick, threatening—and the looming man has to hold himself back, probably from grabbing Charles around the throat and choking the life out of him. A small part of Charles can’t blame him, being protective of his own sisters.

In his defense, Erik started it.

Besides his aggressive stance, Erik’s mind is emitting distress, projecting so fiercely, so loudly at Charles. This is the strongest emotion he’s ever felt from Erik, and everything he’s picked up from him has been so fierce. Charles has struck a chord with him, and not in a good way. Although he isn’t comfortable with how Erik discussed his sister at Azazel’s, he’s somewhat pleased that Erik seems to care about his sister just as much as Charles cares about his own.

Charles doesn’t know much about Erik’s sister other than that she’s seventeen and lives in Berlin, but Erik seems to suspect that Charles knows something more, and whatever it is, it’s nothing good, possibly something that not many other people know. Charles certainly isn’t trying to mock or attack Erik’s sister, but Erik doesn’t know this.

Erik’s gone white, and there’s a slight tremor in his hand that he has clenched in a fist at his side. “I take the guardianship of my sister very seriously, Mr. Xavier.”

Charles has to rectify the situation without apologizing, because that would only enable Erik’s behavior. “What you do with your sister is your business. I just ask that you stay out of mine.”

Erik stares at him, waiting for Charles to go on the offensive once again. Charles stares back, remaining silent as a show of good faith. “Likewise,” he finally replies.

The brooding and ever so composed Erik Lehnsherr finally let his façade briefly slip. What lies underneath the hard exterior is even more terrifying and powerful than what Erik presents to those he crosses paths with, mostly because it shows that Erik is actually human, but it’s also endearing, the strength and determination Erik felt toward protecting his sister, something about Erik that’s potentially gentle and sweet, and a part of him that others might not even know.

It’s a certainly a part of Erik that’s foreign to Charles. And he has no idea what to do with it except carry on small talk and pretend that he hadn’t seen and felt anything, because that’s the only way he knows how to act around Erik.

“You should talk to the local fishermen,” Charles suggests. “They have amazing stories about unusual catches and nasty storms. They’re a great resource if you want to get to know the town better. Brush up on the local history.” Charles’ intuition is telling him that it’s the last thing Erik wants to do.

“I suppose your old fishermen are the closest thing your little town has to a museum?”

Out of anyone else’s mouth, it could’ve been a joke…but it’s Erik. And Erik doesn’t know how to make or take jokes. The appropriate response to a joke would be to laugh, but if that wasn't a joke, Erik could take offense to the laugh. However, Charles just promised himself that he would no longer care about what Erik thought of him, so he should laugh if that’s what he wishes.

Erik also makes Charles petty, so in case Erik was attempting to make a joke, Charles purposely does not laugh. Why give the smug bastard another reason to feel superior? “Hardly. We have a few religious sites that might be of interest.”

Not at all bothered by Charles’ response, Erik asks, “Are you religious, Mr. Xavier?”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “That’s a very personal question, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

“Then I beg your pardon.”

“You have it.”

“Do I? Because I sense some hostility between us.”

 _Because you put it there_ Charles wants to spit at the infuriating man. Of course there’s hostility between them. How else is Charles expected to react after the way Erik’s treated him? Much worse than how he’s been reacting, that’s for damn sure. 

“And what possible reason would I have to be hostile toward you, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Erik says with the ferocity of a man who had just stepped onto a battlefield.

It’s Charles’ turn to take a step forward, and his height is nothing compared to Erik’s, but he squares his stance and says, “Quite frankly I don’t know what I can say to you, and this is certainly not the time nor the place.” It’s the best he can do to try and diffuse the situation, but the ball is now in Erik’s court.

Erik may not be able to take a joke, but he can certainly take a hint, and relaxed his stance. He looks around as if realizing that they’re standing in the middle of a store where women and children are shopping, certainly not the place for a shouting match.

“Charles!” Jean nearly knocks him over from the back. “Look, look at what Mr. Beliar bought me.” He’s scandalized at the shoes she dangles in front of his face. They’re certainly nothing too nice, but it’s a wonderful gesture.

Charles moves her out of the way. “Mr. Beliar, you really shouldn’t have—”

“It’s a much needed gift,” Azazel interrupts. “She asked for the party, so I am going to make sure that she has a gift from her grateful host. She’s the reason I will be making so many new friends.”

Charles frowns at Jean, sure that she somehow talked Azazel into buying her the shoes. “If you insist…”

“It was Erik who insisted I buy the shoes for your sister.”

Charles feels like someone just told him to eat shit, because only in another reality would Erik buy anyone positively associated with Charles a gift. Perhaps Azazel is trying to make Erik look better since he’s done such a wonderful job of acting like a total prat.

There’s still the unlikely chance that Erik actually told Azazel to buy Jean the shoes, but if this were the case it was so that Raven would be impressed with Azazel’s kindness toward her sister. Erik telling Azazel to buy the shoes is in no way his attempt at making amends with Charles.

“What do you say, Jean?” Charles faintly asks.

“Thank you Mr. Lehnsherr.” She’s not even looking at him, too busy admiring her shoes for the party.

“Yes, thank you for your generosity,” Charles adds, finding that he can’t look at Erik either. He spots Emma paying for her dress at the register. “Emma!” he calls. “It’s time to leave.” He needs to escape with what little dignity he has still intact. "Mr. Beliar, as usual it has been such a pleasure. And I thank you so much for the shoes."

"It's nothing," Azazel says. "Ms. Xavier, I look forward to seeing you and your shoes at the party."

"I'll take good care of them," Jean promises. 

Erik stands in front of Charles, waiting for a proper goodbye, something Charles would certainly not give him if it weren't for the shoes he insisted Jean have. The only way he walks away from this as the bigger man is if he acts like the bigger man. 

"Mr. Lehnsherr." Charles holds out his hand, which Erik does not hesitate to take. "My friend, thank you for your generous gift." He gently squeezes to seem sincere—terrifyingly enough he actually is. 

"Of course," Erik says tightly. "I hope she enjoys them."

It's Charles who lets go first. "Emma!" he calls impatiently as he grabs Jean by the hand. "I'm looking forward to seeing you both soon," Charles says as he hurries his sisters out of the store. "I will give Raven your regards."

Emma and Jean are smart enough to know that Charles is in no mood to discuss their run in with Azazel and Erik, so they allow him to walk home in silence. He doesn't even go over the events in his mind, because he knows that at the end of his musings he will still be confused about Erik's intentions toward him.

The man is hot and cold. He dislikes Charles and does not trust him, yet takes every opportunity to speak with him. Although he comes off as condescending, it sometimes seems that he actually is trying to have a discussion. And then he makes gestures like buying shoes for Jean, and what the hell is Charles supposed to think? The truth of the matter is that Erik Lehnsherr will remain a mystery until he either proposes to Charles or permanently leaves Taunton.

It isn't until they've reached the dirt road that they realize that Warren is not with them.


End file.
